


To Chase The Sun

by Azunrru



Series: In The Palm Of A Star [1]
Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, It gets explicit later on, M/M, NK does NOT get exiled we arent on that sad shit, NK is referred to as Gwynsen, Original Character(s), but theyre not that important theyre all plot devices, everyones a fucking idiot, gwyns a rat bastard but not that much of a rat bastard, i felt like having them, no murder just PORN, or yknow, this IS my circus these ARE my monkeys, very babie gwyndolin and filianore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:34:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21856147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azunrru/pseuds/Azunrru
Summary: Sometimes, love starts in the oddest of ways.
Relationships: Artorias the Abysswalker/Lord's Blade Ciaran, Lord Gwyn's Firstborn/Dragon Slayer Ornstein, The Nameless King/Dragon Slayer Ornstein
Series: In The Palm Of A Star [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584715
Comments: 70
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO BASICALLY:  
> I would like to introduce some key things about this AU to clear up anything in advance!!  
> -Gwyn cant do absolutely anything he wants in this au, purely because i feel like in a modern society such as ours, ethics of businesses are now held in much higher regard.  
> -My gwynsen and artorias? idiots. absolute buffoons  
> -Gwynsen/Ornstein/Artorias/Ciaran and Gough are 20, while Gwynevere is 18. Filianore is 10 and Gwyndolin is 8 :} hes just a baby  
> -I made up surnames!! wont list them bc theyre mentioned anyways, but just thought id explain it first

Sunlight flitted through the grey of Gwynsen’s curtains - painting his room in a new, fairer shade. His alarm had rung hours ago but he had really only felt like getting up now; after all, there was no risk in skipping classes - even on the first day of a new semester - when his father probably had more influence than even the governer of the land. 

It was not to be misunderstood, however. His father had not approved of his slack behaviour. In fact, it was far from it - he had initially started behaving like this as an act of rebellion, but it had eventually spiralled into normalcy. What was his father to do? Expel his own son? Gwyn’s newly established ‘kind’ reputation would be at risk, and in an age where businesses revolved around such built statuses, it would surely be a detrimental change.

Gwynsen blinked twice, staring at the ceiling. He had seriously contemplated going back to bed, only to get up after remembering that he needed to send Gwyndolin to a doctor’s appointment by 11:30. Leaving the bed in a state of disarray as he got up, he groggily went through his usual morning cycle consisting of brushing his teeth, throwing on a T-shirt and jeans, and (attempting) to comb through his nest of hair, 

By the time he had completed his routine, he was much more awake and therefore, in a better mood, which then allowed him to jog enthusiastically to his younger brother’s room and throw the door open with a vigor no one was expected to maintain in the hours of dew.

“Good morning Linny!” Gwynsen shouted excitedly, eliciting a soft yelp and a visible flinch from the lump of lilac-coloured blankets. 

“Oh shit,” Gwynsen bashfully spoke. “Did I scare you?”

“A little bit,” came Gwyndolin’s small voice as he stuck his arms above his head in a stretch. “You’re _loud_ \- _and_ you said a bad word.” The older male could feel his heart throb as he watched his little brother squish his pale cheek against the oversized pillow, almost as if in an attempt to hide from Gwynsen’s foul vocabulary. 

Gwynsen grimaced, then chuckled apologetically. “I’m sorry, it’s a habit. But you’re gonna have to wake up now okay? You’re supposed to see the doctor again.” 

Gwyndolin nodded, his eyes still bleary and heavy lidded. “Okay,” the younger sibling replied. He dragged his tiny frame from under the heavy sheets and hopped onto the cold wooden floor, sending a shiver up his spine. 

“Do you need help changing?” Gwynsen asked, worried, as Gwyndolin toddled around the room to reach his cupboard. It was rather odd, since Gwyndolin had often asked him to help pick out his clothes - especially when Gwynevere wasn't around to help instead. 

The shorter boy shook his head in reply. “No, big sis already picked for me last night. She said it would be cold today, and she didn’t want you to let me freeze.” His pudgy hands drew open the cabinet of clothes, pulling out an insulated beige sweater and leggings before walking into the toilet to change. As soon as he emerged - fluffy sweater and all - he tumbled into Gwynsen’s arms, his own forelimbs reaching upwards in a request to be carried. “Can I have breakfast before we leave?” 

Picking up Gwyndolin and placing a kiss to his cheek, Gwynsen smiled. “Of course. What would you like?” 

“Oh!” Gwyndolin excitedly bounced in his grip. “Um, do we have those cookies? The ones that I have when it’s tea time with big sis?” 

Gwynsen wrinkled his nose. “Okay two things - one, you can’t have cookies for breakfast. Two, those are _oat raisins_ , why the hell would you willingly eat that?” 

“Don’t say bad words!” Gwyndolin gasped out as he plastered his tiny palms over his brother’s mouth. “And don’t be mean to me, I like those cookies!”

Gwynsen’s large hands pulled Gwyndolin’s little one’s away - all the while inhaling deeply to prevent himself from snickering and spitting onto his sibling’s hand. “Alright, alright! Just don’t tell Gwynevere I let you eat cookies for breakfast okay?”

“Okay! Okay!” Gwyndolin cried, enthusiastically bouncing in Gwynsen’s grip, forcing him to tighten his hold on the wean.

Readying his posture and smirking, Gwynsen placed another kiss on the plump cheek of his brother. “ _Let’s go then!”_ He yelled, bolting out the room and down the stairs: all the while leaving Gwyndolin clutching to his brother’s jacket and shrieking. 

The rest of the morning had then passed in a blur; as soon as Gwyndolin was seated down, he had stopped panicking from the sprint on the stairs and started enjoying his breakfast biscuits, allowing the two brothers to then leave the house and begin their journey in Gwynsen’s car to the doctor’s clinic. Having a priority on the doctor’s list (evidently, due to their surname rather than Gwyndolin’s actual health) had definitively sped things along as well, allowing Gwyndolin to quickly get his last bout of medication for the month.

“You’ll be okay alone, right?” Gwynsen questioned the moment he tucked Gwyndolin back into his sheets. “If anything’s wrong, call me or Gwynevere,” Gwynsen reminded, to which Gwyndolin - already verging on the dregs of sleep - lazily nodded. 

Gwynsen grinned fondly at the sight, patting the small figure on the bed. “Good, I’ll be back when around three. Ask the maids to bring up something if you’re hungry.” 

He exited the room and shut the door behind him. He was three hours late to his first day back to college - having already missed a lecture and a reading session but hey, at least he was showing up! The thought made the large figure chuckle to himself. There wasn’t a single time he’d regret skipping class, and he wasn’t planning on starting soon. There was no way he was going to fail out or be expelled - no way his father would let the school do so. 

Leisurely, he restarted his Ferrari and drove to his campus, parking himself into his designated slot upon reaching. He glimpsed at the familiar view of the academy’s front, smirking at the sight of the school’s large, prominent sign, carrying all of its pompous prestige with it. ‘ _ANOR LONDO UNIVERSITY,_ ’ it read. Holding number one in the world’s university rankings consistently for the last two decades along with an acceptance rate of 4.8%, it was the facility that had churned out thousands of the world’s most successful graduates. Ironically, he - a nobody without his father’s name - was enrolled in it, and still, he wasn’t even trying. 

Gwynsen winced as he broke out of his reverie. ‘ _A nobody, huh.’_

* * *

Full of dread, Gwynsen entered the doorway of the lecture hall. It was already a solid twenty - five minutes into the lesson, but he found that he honestly couldn’t care less regarding his latency, considering he was really only showing up due to his siblings’ pesterings and mild obligation. 

Despite it all, the white-haired male slung his bag over the backrest of his usual seat after unpacking his notebook and stationery, and rambunctiously took a seat. The lecturer did not even spare him a glance, far too used to his antics. He scorned to even pretend to take notes as the class continued. There was no point in pretending when everyone even new the nature of his attendance, so instead he fiddled with his phone in his pocket, and occasionally lolled his head to the side to relieve some of the stiffness in his neck. 

It was during one of these occasions that Gwynsen had caught a glimpse of a head of a brilliant shade of crimson seated next to one of his own friends - Artorias, whomst he had met in the basketball team, and had continued being extremely close with. 

Gwynsen could not help but stare; not only had he never seen this student before - likely meaning that it was a newly transferred student, perhaps on a twinning programme - but the possessor of the red mane was also _gorgeous._

The stranger’s strikingly vermillion hair cascaded against their back in waves, styled in a high ponytail with a braid (and presumably another on the other side) on their lower parietal bone. Thick bangs framed their defined jawline - which led up to outlined (but not overly so) cheekbones, pillowy lips and a delicately upturned nose. 

However, all of his features were overshadowed by their vibrant emerald eyes - which Gwynsen got to see both of, as the stranger abruptly turned - now facing him - and scowled.

The intensity of the gaze that the other student held could only be described as terrifying. His expression held no fear or apprehension whatsoever as he mouthed a rough ‘ _What do you want?_ ’ before he deepened his scowl again. 

Gwynsen’s head completely blanked - his eyes blinking rapidly in shock. It would have been an understatement to say that he had been taken aback; the stranger’s reaction had been so unforeseen that Gwynsen had to even resist flinching. 

His heart raced a mile a minute. Following the only action that his brain allowed him to carry out, Gwynsen produced a shit-eating-smirk that he hoped would radiate confidence, then waved. ‘ _How you doin’ baby?_ ’ Gwynsen mouthed back.

The other male’s nose wrinkled in reaction. Gwynsen watched as his scowl evolved into a full on glare. The stranger turned away once more - resuming listening to the speaker at the podium to take notes. Gwynsen found that he undoubtedly could not read the expression on the other man's face - as it returned to complete neutrality in mere moments through a regal act of stoicism. 

_'Oh. Oh that didn't go **too** bad, _Gwynsen thought, hopefully. He shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, itching to figure out what just happened. He found that lecture had never passed so swiftly before, as the remaining twenty minutes were completely wisped away while he was in thought - almost as if it was a leaf amidst the autumn gale. 

The moment the professor had concluded his slides, signalling the end of the class, Gwynsen threw all of his tools into his bag, draped it across his shoulders and sprung out the door. He clumsily reached into his pocket and in a flurry of typing, messaged Artorias.

_From: You, Just Now_

_BRO_

_WHO WAS THAT WITH YOY_

_THE REDHEAD_

_HE S HOT_

_WHAT_

_ALSO I FYCJED UP HJSDAHJ I WAS STARING AND HECUAGHT ME_

_BUT LIKE I COVERED IT UP_

_MY CONFIDENCE GAME? 100_

Within seconds, Artorias responded. It was almost as if he had expected it, which, in this case, he probably had - seeing as if the redhead and Artorias had been friends, he’d likely been informed of what transpired within the lecture hall. 

_From: Arty, Just Now_

_BAHAHAHA_

_HE TOLD ME LOL_

_UR A FUCKING IDIOT_

_U DIDNT COVER SHIT_

Gwynsen frowned at the response. Artorias was wrong, he played it off just fine, _plus!_ That didn’t even answer his question!

_From: You, Just Now_

_WHAT THE FUCKJSUT TELL ME HIS NAEM_

_YOU DIDNT ANSWER SHIT_

_From: Arty, Just Now_

_Omg yea his name is Ornstein loll_

_Ornstein Lionheart for full_

_pretentious as fuCK_

The third year college student couldn’t help but grin. Ornstein! What a pretty name. It fit so perfectly with the beholder's noble air.

_From: You, Just Now_

_Ok first of all_

_Thats hot as hell_

_Secondly_

_Your name is artorias_

_Youre ten times more fake lmaooo_

_From: Arty, Just Now_

_MY MAN I AM SO HURT_

_You meet one (1) hoe and ur leaving ur bro behind_

_Ok i see how it is_

_Im sick of it_

Okay, that was it. Gwynsen let out an obnoxiously loud chuckle, no longer able to contain his laughter. Artorias would always be one of his best friends - a fact both him and the aforementioned male knew. They had met when on orientation day, which (fortunately,) his father had not let him skip. Their already warm acquaintanceship was then only furthered by the two of them coincidentally joining the university’s varsity basketball team, along with the same gym located near the heart of the city and Gwynsen had found that their similar, boisterous dynamic had led to some of the most fun times he ever had. 

Although, if he was being honest with himself, Gwynsen was hardly thinking of his friend right now, but rather thinking of someone he'd _like_ to make his friend.

He smiled fondly for a last time before he tucked his phone into his pocket, forming a plan in his head on what to say to the stranger the entire time.

It couldn't be that hard right? The next time he saw him, all he had to do was say hi.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more things to address:  
> -From here on out, the POVs will switch a fair bit!!  
> -YES i gave ornstein a little sister. he has one you cant tell me otherwise. I'll introduce her in more depth later on, for now shes just mentioned.

Ornstein couldn’t believe. He couldn’t _fucking_ believe it. 

He was absolutely seething with anger. The veins in his head felt like they were about to erupt, with his blood as a steaming, furious vapour.

All he wanted was a nice, relaxed first day of university but _no._ Even after working as hard as the human body allowed and gaining a scholarship into the best university in global records, of course the universe still wouldn’t give him a break. 

No, of course, the universe gave him an abhorrent wolf-whistling shit sack on his first day; said wolf-whistling shit sack also obviously not caring about how well he had to perform, and Ornstein had the sneaking suspicion that it was because _daddy_ secured his place in the world. _No,_ it wasn’t the flirtatious act - no matter how irritating - that had gotten him into such a foul mood. He refused to let such acts affect him in any way. Instead, what had seriously _infuriated_ him was the disgustingly spoiled attitude the cat-caller had possessed. 

The redhead couldn’t even begin to imagine having such a horrible personality, because he - unlike _some_ people - earned his way in the system through hard work and actually showed up to lectures on time.

“That was Gwynsen, right? That dickbag, I mean,” Ornstein asked, hoping to confirm who he thought the identity of the flirt was.

Artorias glanced up from his phone, chortling. It was evident that he hadn’t really paid attention to what his friend had just said. “Huh? O-oh, yeah. You know him?”

Ornstein nodded solemnly. “Who doesn’t? Gwyn’s son, horrible attitude, company heir.”

The ravenette barked out another laugh. “Dude, c’mon! He’s not that bad.” Artorias leaned over Ornstein’s shoulders, draping his arm across them. “He’s like me, see. We both run on like, what? Four brain cells. We’ve been arrested for horny thousands of times, but we're not _asses,_ see. ”

“Arty, you’ve _never_ been arrested for horny. The last time someone asked you if you wanted her nudes you texted her a paragraph about how you were worried about her and asked if she was feeling okay,” Ornstein spoke - all the while, chuckling. He couldn't help it; Artorias - negative intelligence quotient and all - had always been the epitome of boyish charm, and never failed to lift even his stormiest of moods. 

Artorias moued in response;his face contorting into an expression portraying all his repugnance at the memory. “It really wasn’t safe! I mean, it’s her body, and she can do what she wants with it, but what if I was a bad person? And why? Why would she do it? She didn’t even know me well?” 

“That’s exactly it, idiot.” Ornstein replied. He shoved Artorias’ arm off his frame and punched him lightly on the rib. “She doesn’t know you well, but she’s probably aware you aren’t a bad person. I mean, at least I hope she does?”

“But what if she doesn’t, man? I’m worried about her!” It was hilarious how genuinely distraught Artorias seemed. It was just one of his good qualities, Ornstein supposed. The taller male really was an honest, compassionate man who - despite being overly excited and worrisome at times - always meant the best for all his loved ones. 

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter anyways,” concluded Ornstein. His mind travelled back to his schedule for the day as he unintentionally blanked out his friend’s rambling. He only had two more hours on campus left: one being a free period and the other a lecture. Afterwards, he was most likely going to return home, solve problem sets, cook dinner, and finally, clean the house - whether his roommates joined him or not. 

He wasn't expecting to be able to sit down and phone home - at least until he was settled in and used to his schedule, but he couldn't help but still feel disheartened. He was already missing his little sister - Issabeth - despite only not seeing her for a week. He couldn't help but feel worried about her, knowing how busy his parents would get at times. When he was home he was at least able to care for her, but now that he was a city away, he suddenly realised that in all likelihood, she was a lot lonelier. 

“Hey!” Artorias called, waving a hand in front of Ornstein’s face. “Are you even listening to me?” 

“Ah, yeah sorry. I was just...thinking.” Ornstein mumbled. He glanced over at Artorias as he spoke, hurriedly thinking of something new to say before Artorias could inquire anything. “Speaking of which, you’re gonna need to take the trash out and clean the bathroom later. It’s your turn.”

At his words, Artorias almost looked as if he was about to screech, and perhaps, he actually was. Judging by his friend's reaction, Ornstein could safely say his words had achieved their purpose as a distraction.

“What-! _No!_ ” 

Smugly, Ornstein chuckled. “What makes you think you’ve got a choice? You should’ve been awake when the rest of us picked chores. Ciaran even tried to wake you, but don’t you enjoy your sleep, Arty?”

“Y’know," Artorias started, pointing a finger at the redhead. "That nickname has never sounded so evil in all twenty years of me hearing it,” the basketball player uttered. He would rather do any other chore. Literally _any_ other chore. 

Ornstein snorted. “No but seriously - if you wanna switch, go ask Gough or Cia. I’m not willing to switch mine.”

“Alright!” Artorias yelled. “Just you fuckin’ watch, Orn. With my persuasive skills and gorgeous looks Cia’s _definitely_ going to switch with me. ”

* * *

“I can’t believe Cia didn’t switch with me!” Wailed Artorias from the bathroom - which left the three of his roommates laughing in the living room, the echo of such a sound only furthering Artorias' misery.

“You should wake up earlier and call chores earlier next time, Arty.” Ciaran called back. “Except the stuff Orn does. We all know the rest of us can’t cook anything besides instant macaroni.” 

Artorias merely let out another groan from the bathroom.

“Alright, ignoring Arty,” Ciaran spoke - turning over to face Gough and Ornstein on the couch. “How did your day go, guys?”

Gough’s head lifted up at that, pleased knowing that Ciaran cared to ask. “It was okay. Me and Artorias have been here for two years already, so the day was rather normal for me.” Ornstein and Ciaran smiled in response - both of them glad to know that their friend wasn’t experiencing any prejudice as he did back in highschool. 

Gough, although physically intimidating, had always been kind hearted and caring, yet the other students seemed to enjoy focusing on his abnormally large stature (and differences) instead, causing many of their peers to take out their frustrations and bully him in their earlier years. 

Patting Gough in the shoulder - almost in relief - Ornstein spoke. “That’s good, Gough. We know you can handle it but if anything’s wrong tell us okay?” 

Happily, Gough nodded. “Of course.” Gough reached downwards to rest a hand on Ornstein’s shoulder as well. he was careful to make sure not to lean all his weight on his friend, as his heavy mass could potentially cause discomfort - leaving him awkwardly (but fondly) hovering his palm on the redhead’s much smaller frame. “And what about you, Orn? How was yours?”

The inquiry - albeit out of goodwill - made Ornstein reel back in disgust. He threw back his head against the couch and groaned; the act forcing both his friends to stare strangely at him.

“Something happened then?” questioned Ciaran, keen as always.

“Well,” Ornstein hesitantly started. “It was okay at first. I found my way through campus just fine, the material was okay too but I just -”

Before he finished, the infuriating sound of rubber gloves slapping against the counter rung heavy in the air, while Artorias noisily guffawed. “ _He got catcalled!_ ” Cut in Artorias. 

Both Ciaran and Gough took a few moments to register what Artorias said, their faces blanking like a buffering video. “You _what?_ ”

“I got _catcalled,_ ” mumbled Ornstein through gritted teeth. His line of sight traced straight to Artorias - and he hoped with every bone in his body that his stare conveyed the extent of fury that he was experiencing. 

Ciaran still seemed to be in a state of disbelief - which, by every account, was understandable. Ornstein had always been attractive; that was definite, but not a single soul had ever tried to make an unsolicited attempt at flirting with him before. Additionally, she was especially surprised that - if such an attempt really was made - the person who had done so had not been beaten half to death by now. “By who?”

Chewing in a way that spilled crumbs from his mouth, Artorias plopped himself on the couch. “Gwynsen,” he replied, once more in Ornstein’s stead.

“Oh! So _that’s_ why he’s alive!” Laughed Ciaran. It wasn’t that she knew Gwynsen personally, no. Much like many others within the campus (and worldwide,) the child of Gwyn - the most influential businessman of all time - was only known by reputation. However, said reputation was fairly mixed: certain students were sure that he was a high-strung, petty rich boy who swam through the waves of life aboard his father’s boat, while some (Artorias included) spoke of him highly - describing him as a friendly and rather humble individual. 

Nevertheless, no matter which side your opinion lay on, Gwynsen was one thing for certain - untouchable. No one could lay harm to him, lest they risk expulsion or perhaps an even worse fate. 

“No, but trust me. I wanted to fucking murder him,” assured Ornstein. “I don’t even care that he cat called me. It’s that fucking rich-boy attitude that pisses me off.” 

“Yeah, I get that,” replied Ciaran gravely. “Especially when the two of us couldn’t even afford to live here until now and had to take twinning instead.” 

Frowning, Ornstein nodded in agreement. “Exactly. Maybe he’s used to people throwing themselves as his feet, but he better fuck off if he thinks I’m like that.”

Artorias visibly drew back. The wince he let out wasn’t particularly silent either, and Ornstein could already predict what he was about to say. “Guys, don’t be like that! He’s really nice, I swear.”

“No offense, Arty, but you kind of see the best in everyone,” Ciaran stated. She wasn't _wrong,_ per se, but Artorias found that his good will was often mistaken for naivety - even by his best friends.

The ravenette placed a hand to his chest as if he was in physical pain, joking off the ounce of genuine offense. “Guys, my fuckin’ _heart._ You’re all telling me you don’t trust me? I’m _hurt._ ” Artorias then reached over, squeezing his smaller friend “C’mon Steiny, you trust me right?” 

“Oh, I’d say I usually do, but in this case? Absolutely not.” Came the retort from Ornstein, leaving everyone in the room laughing. 

Almost sighing in relief, Artorias instead just grinned - indicating how much more glad he was now that the atmosphere of the room had lightened. “What the _fuck_ man!” Despite how hurt he had tried to sound, his false anger was completely drowned by the chuckling that he was no longer able to combat. “Ah, shit. I forgot to tell you," murmured Artorias quietly. "You’re gonna be seeing him a lot. You two are in the same course, so you’re bound to run into him at least a couple of times.”

Ornstein gagged. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” The universe really _was_ out to fuck him over.

Earnestly shaking his head, Artorias shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint, chief. Wish I was.” 

Knowing it wasn’t banter, Ornstein’s mood soured even further. He suddenly desperately wished to be back home - cleaning the house, tutoring his little sister, and even simply studying in a familiar space had sounded so _good_ in that moment. Artorias pat his back regretfully, trying his best to cheer his friend up. 

“But hey, first day of uni from home, right?” Whooped Artorias. He always had been the optimist, and Ornstein would not hesitate to admit that he was glad that that aspect didn't change in the past two years. “Just enjoy yourself, man. If Gwynsen bothers you that much, just ignore him or some shit.”

Yeah, _yeah_ that _was_ true. Ornstein had the resolve of pure steel - if not, even more solid. He never let a pesky rat bother him before, so he wasn’t about to let it start now - not in the most important years of his academic career. His experiences prior to this had been even more awful. This was _nothing._

He was just going to ignore Gwynsen, easy as that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ALSO FORGOT TO SAY: I tend to update in twos!! meaning that if one chapter is uploaded, expect the other shortly after - if not at the same time. 
> 
> ++++*Cinema sins ding* exposition!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi im so mf sorry i took so long to update LMAO,,, i was busy for the past few days. The chapter after this should be up on monday though!! Writing this also gave me in s an e secondhand embarrassment. Im gwynsen kin.
> 
> ALSO: this chapter is really long compared to my previous one, so: im sorry lol

Ornstein tenderly dropped his bag against the carpeted floor as he sat himself down on the lecture hall’s wooden bench. He lifted up his arm to read his watch - said device indicating that he had five minutes left before the session would begin. 

It was rather ironic, he supposed; that the only moment of calm solitude he had experienced in the past week was in a glorified _classroom_ of all places. Luckily, however, while university life had been rather hectic, he had managed to completely avoid that pompous _rat_ since the first day - having not even seen him since then.

He laughed giddily to himself. Gwynsen was skipping school knowing that he’d face no risk of failure whether he attended or not, but in this case, Ornstein had benefited _greatly_ from the other man’s faineance. He found that he couldn’t even properly put into words how pleased he was that on his second day, (as well as the next few,) Gwynsen was nowhere to be found.

A soft chime from his phone in his pocket broke him from his trance, causing his eyes to trail back to his watch. ‘ _Two minutes to the lecture,_ ’ he thought. ‘ _Probably enough time._ ’ Flicking the home button of his phone and unlocking it, Ornstein checked his messages.

_From: Rias, Just Now_

_Yoooooo_

_Hey how mad would u b_

_If i told u_

_I just got a dog_

Ornstein could feel his heart get caught in the thralls of his throat. He was wrong. Two minutes _definitely_ wasn’t enough time.

_From: You, Just Now_

_You fucking what?_

_Artorias_

_We (four people) live in an apartment_

_For_

_Get this,_

_Four people._

The honours student almost wanted to cry. In the first place, the house was never fully clean with Artorias in it - even with the rest of them tried to clean - and now, said messmaker had gotten a _dog?_

_From: Rias, Just Now_

_I mean yeah but she was in a box on the street :(_

_What was i supposed to dooooooo_

_I’ll clean after her i swEAR_

There was no possible way Artorias was going to make true with that promise. He didn’t even make his own breakfast in the morning - leaving the simple task of pouring milk and cereal in a dish to Ciaran. 

_From: You, Just Now_

_No, you won’t_

_That’s the problem_

_You don’t even shower regularly_

_How do I expect you to look after a dog well enough to not fuck up the house_

_From: Rias, Just Now_

_Im rly mf hurting from this lack of trust_

_Fuck u_

_From: You, Just Now_

_You smell like a smash player_

_The worst part is that you also do sports_

_And you want a dog?_

_From: Rias, Just Now_

_Listen_

_I cannot fix what ive done._

_Weve bonded_

_Sjes already chewed through my shoe_

_I love her <3 _

_^sif_

_Shes sif :)))_

Ornstein couldn’t help but realise that this was probably the fastest, most flowing conversation he’s ever had. Under normal circumstances the redhead would’ve taken his time to text back, but in a gust of insistence to at least make his friend realise the consequences of his impulsiveness, he had replied as soon as his friend did the same. 

It was also within this rush that it did not occur to Ornstein that the lecture was about to start, meaning that several other students began trickling into the room - along with the professor himself a few moments later. 

He was thankful to find that although some of his classmates had sat down near him, none chose to sit on the same row of pews that he did, allowing him to not gain any odd stares as he slid his phone back into his pocket and slumped against the seat’s backrest in defeat. 

Ornstein exhaled heavily in an attempt to call himself down; he desperately needed to ground himself - needed to ignore this for now and just focus on the lecture. He had experienced distractions before and yet, always overcame them triumphantly - and this occasion should be no different.

Within another five minutes or so, he had gained the concentration that would allow him to successfully absorb the knowledge that was being taught to him. Regaining his attention and taking notes with his regular efficiency, he found that it was absolute _worlds_ easier to guilt trip himself back into a studious mindset when there was so much at stake nowadays. 

As Ornstein poured all of his effort into his education once more, fifteen minutes phased by in a blur of scribbled mind maps and bullet points - his pen flying across the pages of his notebook. He was almost completely submerged in his studies - Artorias and _‘_ __Sif’_ _tucked into the crevices of his mind, no longer the subject of his thoughts.

Although, even with his newfound engrossment, Ornstein was unfortunate to find that this newfound pace was not meant to last long: not when a certain _spoiled delinquent_ \- that he hadn’t even noticed entered the hall _-_ took a seat next to him.

The redhead’s resolve had immediately sunk into a pit - in an instant, he had to pour every single drop of effort into preventing his eyes from twitching. That was much easier said than done, however, with Gwynsen’s stare boring holes into his head, causing him to squeeze the pen he was holding tightly.

“Hi,” the taller male whispered. Ornstein couldn’t view the look on the other student’s face in risk of making eye contact, but he found that the saturated cockiness trickling from Gwynsen’s voice vexed him all the same. 

Ornstein’s eyes squinted, his left - almost twitching. He angled his head to stare only forward; ensuring that no eye contact with Gwynsen would be made. Unconsciously, his jaw shifted into a clench, forcing his features to contort into an expression of annoyance.

Despite the obvious act of avoidance, Gwynsen was unrelenting. In fact, if anything, he had become even more insistent on interacting with Ornstein - the larger male having placed his elbow onto the desk, which he then leaned his head on - permitting him to gaze at Ornstein at all times.

Aggressively, Ornstein flicked a sanguine bang forward, hoping that blocking the delinquent from his peripheral vision would lessen the unwanted distraction. However, even with the strands of crimson as a physical blockade, the honours student found that Gwynsen’s ogle was as persistently infuriating as ever - forcing him to tense up even further.

Ornstein breathed out deeply. Gathering up his resolve, he picked up his pen and began jotting down notes as he did before. 

‘ _Focus,_ ’ he mentally reminded himself, and then: ‘ _I’ve worked too hard for this._ **_Way_ ** _too hard for this._ ’ Followed by an extremely bitter ‘ _Not that he’d ever know what that feels like._ ’ He silently huffed out another series of breaths, steeling himself again; oddly, it seemed like that was all the world wanted him to do today.

Try as he might, his efforts ultimately proved fruitless when Gwynsen’s index finger delivered a prod to his arm - instantaneously tearing his last shred of perseverance. 

“What do you fucking want?” Ornstein exasperatedly whispered, still careful to maintain his volume, ensuring that he would not draw attention from the other students to himself. His fingers dug themselves into his palms, forming crescents in his skin as his grip around his pen increasing in tightness. “Why do you _insist_ on bothering me?”

“Hi,” Gwynsen replied, obviously unbothered by the tone of Ornstein’s speech - a cheeky grin on his face the entire time. “Can I get your number?”

Ornstein could swear that he was about to implode. He could promise to every single existing deity with upmost honesty that he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. There were no words to describe his current emotions besides them being an utter, all-consuming _fury._

In that instant, an influx of memories swam oceans in the fog of Ornstein’s mind, wreaking havoc and churning storms. It was not to say that Gwynsen inflicted any physical or emotional harm, but evoke echoes of childhood horrors he did. Thousands of ghouls stirred in his ribcage, reminding him of the years of pressure inflicted by his parents - of them admonishing him that there was a large chance he may not have been able to attend a higher education if he did not work insanely hard.

Pressure that Gwynsen had never once felt.

His green orbs widened as he provided a leer to Gwynsen as a response that he _knew_ would depict his incandescent flurry - hands twitching and teeth grinding. There was a pause: his brain contemplating how he could respond, and yet, in that moment he found no proper way that could satisfy his wrath while also not leading to any ill consequences. 

Still, his mind was running a mile an hour as he pictured the thousands of ways he could physically set Gwynsen a reminder that would establish his peace for the rest of his tertiary educational career. 

And then, the professor announced the end of the seminar. 

It was as luck would have it, Ornstein guessed. Mayhaps the messiah had decided that the fate he was suffering was far too pitiable to the extent where even she had to intervene. 

The shorter male - refusing to associate himself with this _nonsense_ any more - spun his body in the opposite direction of Gwynsen and herded his belongings. He then fled the room hurriedly, his anger still rejecting his brain’s proposal of simply _dissipating_. 

His hands clutched the leather strap of his shoulder bag. He hadn’t realised how far he had walked in his enraged stupor - his legs only pausing when he noticed that he had reached the courtyard that was brimming with greenery. 

The sight of the flowers served as a calming factor, granting him with the peace of mind to make the first conscious decision since the seminar. Tucking himself behind a pillar, he pulled out his phone from his leggings. He had determined that there were _many_ more things to do than just standing around all day burning with ire - an example of such responsibility being continuing to confront his roommate about a certain pet.

_From: You, Just Now_

_Okay. Get rid of sif then._

He wasn’t expecting to get a response straight away; Artorias was supposed to have a full schedule today - one full of classes, sports and chores. So it was rather shocking when he _did_ receive a text instantly. 

_From: Rias, Just Now_

_This is a toxic friendship_

_From: You, Just Now_

_Aren’t you supposed to be busy_

_From: Rias, Just Now_

_im in d mall_

_Trynna figure what the hell dog need_

_Come w me btw i need giga brain_

Ornstein sighed. Of course, _of course_ Artorias would cancel all his plans only when a _puppy_ was at stake. He also desperately didn’t want to go to the mall - not after how exhausted what had just ensued in his lecture had left him, but it was probably for the best if he did, seeing as Artorias would’ve likely purchased little to no goods that were actually useful for the hound.

_From: You, Just Now_

_God, okay_

_Where is she now_

_From: Rias, Just Now_

_W ciaaaaaa_

_Cia doesnt seem to like her v much doe_

_But she does like cia a lot so_

_Cia has to suck it up_

Snickering, Ornstein placed a hand over his mouth. Little by little, his mood was already being elevated. In the end, there was no point in fixating over such trivial incidents - no matter how outraged they made in the heat of the moment. In the fullness of time, he’d always have more crucial issues anyways. 

Ornstein felt impish. Teasing Artorias for the sake of at least an attempted laugh, he answered the last set of texts he got.

_From: You, Just Now_

_Aren't you always talking about how much her opinion means to you_

_Why do you not care now_

It wasn't long before his phone was buzzing him non stop - the screen flashing with new notifications just as he predicted would happen.

_From: Rias, Just Now_

_IDO_

_I CARE_

_I wasjdoksoigng_

_IWAS JOKINF_

_HYUFUSFBUDS_

_PLEASE_

_DONJT TELL GERISAID THAT_

Both of them knew that Ornstein was not one to say anything - he had always been a man of apical honesty and loyalty, but he guessed that Artorias’ bashful state caused him to beg for silence still. 

_From: You, Just Now_

_Which entrance do I meet you at_

_From: Rias, Just Now_

_Ur a fucking rat_

_South plaza entrance btw_

_Im at the juice bar_

While that aspect was settled, something else bothered Ornstein greatly. It almost felt wrong to not tell Artorias about his incident with Gwynsen, but then again, he had been saved by Artorias before, and he would not let it happen again.

* * *

Gwynsen pouted as he drove home. Admittedly, that hadn’t gone as well as he hoped it did - with no phone number collected and Ornstein _maybe_ being a little displeased, the incident was probably leaning towards being a failure.

‘ _Doesn’t matter,_ ’ he assured himself, the car’s stereo lifting his spirits as well. ‘ _There’s always other ways of getting him to like me, and I know the_ **_perfect_ ** _one._ ’

After everything had occurred, Gwynsen was once again swift to inform Artorias about everything that happened through a phone call - resulting in him being made fun of once more. However, Artorias did mention that he and Ornstein were _most likely_ going to the mall, and although no promises were made, that slight piece of information was more than enough. 

‘ _I seriously think you’re pissing him off, man,_ ’ _Artorias had playfully stated over the phone. ‘But honestly I just hope you didn’t piss him off too bad, because I need him to follow me to the mall later.’_

_That had gotten Gwynsen interested. ‘You two are going to the mall?’_

_Artorias snorted. ‘Ah, yeah. I adopted a dog so I need him to help me pick up shit from the store that y’know, is actually gonna be useful.’_

_Gwynsen was aware that the more intriguing part of the statement should’ve been how Artorias adopted a dog, but instead, he was far more attracted to how if Ornstein was helping him purchase things for the dog, it probably meant that they’d be at the pet shop._

_‘You’ve been awfully silent, dude. Normally you don’t shut the fuck up,’ Artorias spoke._

_‘Arty,_ **_I’m_ ** _not the one who doesn’t shut up.’ He grinned sinisterly to himself before replying again. ‘Also, thanks!’_

_‘Thanks? For what?’ There was a quick moment of silence before Artorias answered, confusion evident in his voice._

_Gwynsen snickered in return, allowing Artorias to catch on - but not quickly enough. ‘Wait a fucking minute, don’t you dare!’_

_‘Thanks again!’ Gwynsen shouted, hanging up._

The conversation had then permitted Gwynsen to plan ahead - this new scheme being one that, in Gwynsen’s mind, was guaranteed to succeed.

He keenly parked his car in the garage of the mansion and sped inside the abode, chucking his keys onto the birch wood table next to the entryway. 

“Linny!” He called. He contemplated for another moment before yelling once more, this time asking for the older of his two younger sisters. “Eve! Can both of you come down?”

At first, he his shouts yielded no response - both beings that were asked for completely silent. However, within moments - just as Gwynsen knew would happen - Gwynevere walked down the stairway slowly, Gwyndolin in her arms and a distressed look on her face. 

“Gwynsen, stop shouting. Fili just went to bed,” Gwynevere gently chided. There was a certain sophistication in her step - one that almost seemed as if it was nature’s honey stuck to her heels as they trailed behind a golden sweetness. “And what did you call me for?”

The mentioned male was about to reply when Gwyndolin visibly bounced in his elder sister’s grip, and excitedly asked: “Oh, and me! What did you call _me_ for?” His soft cheeks had reddened as he spoke, providing to himself with an immature aura - one that he had never conveyed before in his ailing years of sickness. 

Both older siblings laughed at Gwyndolin’s antics, glad to find that this was one of the rare - but more gradually more frequently occuring - moments where Gwyndolin felt well enough to express himself in the bubbly way most other children were able to.

Stretching both his hands out as an offer to take Gwyndolin, Gwynsen smiled. “I want your opinion, Eve.” He said. Gwyndolin, now deposited in his arms instead, peered up curiously, evidently wanting to know his part as well - which Gwynsen was happy to explain. “But for you, Linny, I need a favour.”

* * *

“Gwynsen, I cannot emphasise enough how _horrible_ of an idea this is,” Gwynevere declared with a hand on her forehead. 

The three of them were seated on their tea table on the balcony, the soft breeze and soothing sunlight administering a delightful atmosphere. Gwynsen, having just informed his two siblings of his ‘plan’ looked thoroughly scandalised, and placed a palm over his chest. 

“What are you _talking_ about? It’s a great plan!” He insisted. He reached over and lightly pinched on Gwyndolin’s cheeks, causing Gwyndolin to bat away his older brother’s hands in return.

“No! No cheek pinches!” Gwyndolin cried. 

“But you’re just a _baby!_ ” Gwynsen teased, guffawing. “But you think it’s a good plan, right?” It was a stupid question of course - almost rhetoric in the sense that there was no need for Gwyndolin to even answer to know what he was going to say. 

Just as expected, Gwyndolin only shrugged in response. “I don’t know.” He was only a young boy at the age of eight after all, who furthermore, had spent most of his youth so far privately schooled due to his illness rendering him too frail to leave the home for long hours. 

“But will you do it even if you don’t know?” Gwynsen asked. His voice was still barraged in hope, and Gwynevere almost wanted to shriek.

“Gwynsen, he’s _eight!_ And I assure you, this is not a good plan,” Her eyebrows furrowed as she attempted to convince her elder brother. She was beginning to get annoyed - Gwynsen was being stubborn as usual, and quite frankly, it didn’t ever get any less irritating. “What’s the point of asking for my opinion anyways? Especially when you knew you wouldn’t listen to me?” 

“Honestly,” Gwynsen started. “I was hoping you _would_ find it a good plan and I’d have my ego inflated.” 

The reply made Gwynevere completely deflate, her form hunching over as she sighed. “Very well, I suppose I can’t stop you.” briskly, she finished her cup of tea and left it on the silver cart - knowing full well that the maids would collect it and send it for a washing later. “Tell me if it goes well I suppose, I have work I must complete.” Then, she walked over to the edge of the table where both her brothers were sat, and pecked both of them on the cheek - pausing when she got to Gwyndolin. “Don’t let him force you into doing anything, okay Linny? Tell me if he’s being intolerable as usual.” 

Gwyndolin nodded. “Okay, I will.” 

Waving as a final farewell, Gwynevere turned away and exited through the door, leaving only the two boys in the room. 

“So,” came Gwynsen the moment Gwynevere exited. “Will you do it?” He nudged Gwyndolin, trying to edge his brother on. “Help your wonderful brother out?”

The smaller male tapped his chin in contemplation, humming. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll buy you three bags of cookies,” Gwynsen offered.

“Deal!”

* * *

“Wait, so you’re telling me that bones aren’t actually a dog’s main diet?” asked Artorias. The expression of his face indicated a clear, genuine shock, and Ornstein found it rather unfortunate that questions like these weren’t out of the ordinary. 

Ornstein shook his head, almost grieving. “No, Artorias. Their diet does not consist mostly of bones.”

“Huh,” the ravenette murmured. “You see, I never knew that.”

Raising an eyebrow, Ornstein nodded. “Yeah, I could tell.”

“You know what? I think it’s probably best if I just spoke to the lady about what I need to get,” Artorias admitted. “Just wait here for a moment, I’ll be back soon,” the taller male additionally instructed - his back, crooked in defeat as he ambled away.

The redhead, now left to devices, moved to the side of the aisle: careful to not make himself an obstructive figure. Glad that he was granted a juncture of serenity, he retrieved his phone while propping himself into a corner. 

Right as he was about to check his social media, a little boy - perhaps a little older than his own sister - trotted up to him with a slight bounce with a step, skidding to a halt right in front of him. 

Ornstein blinked. At first, he had thought that the small child had wanted something from a shelf behind him, but he had remembered that he was positioned onto a wall and nothing else. He looked downwards at the young boy, noticing that the tot had awfully adorable features - with plump cheeks surrounded by snowy bangs that came to a stop around his shoulders, as well as bright amber eyes that stared back Ornstein’s beryl ones.

The older male crouched down to the wean’s height. He had come to the conclusion that the boy was probably lost, and Ornstein would be damned if he did not help out the other male out when he himself had a little sibling. 

“Hello,” he greeted. His voice was amiable and easy going, and he hoped that the youngster would be comforted enough to explain his situation. “Are you lost?”

In a completely astonishing turn of events, the little boy shook his head, but said nothing more. Ornstein, now curious _and_ worried, was about to ask if the boy needed help with anything when said male, puffing up his chest, finally spoke.

“Um, can I read you something?” He requested - voice small and anxious.

Now, Ornstein, by every mean, was perturbed - and especially, rather unsettled. However, instead of inquiring any further, he nodded - not wanting to increase the child’s anxiety.

“My brother said,” the boy muttered, while pulling out a large sheet of paper.

‘ _Who the hell is his brother?_ ’ Ornstein silently wondered, detesting to interrupt the little lamb.

“You are very pretty and everything about you reminds him of a - um,” he paused. He glanced up to check if Ornstein was still listening to him, and when he had confirmed it so, stared down at the sheet once more. His bottom lip curled upwards, pouting, and portraying that he had probably bumped into an issue. “How do you read this word?”

Ornstein - still squatting - peered at the parchment: said film littered with rough scribbles. There were many other messily written words, but he declined looking at them and only peered at where the boy was pointing. “Exquisite,” he read out loud. “It means really beautiful.”

“Oh!” The child realised. “Okay, thank you! Anyways, he said you remind him of an ‘exquisite’ rose in a warm summer’s day...” 

Alright. This was getting _really_ strange. The older male was beginning to wish for the return of his friend, if only to have another soul present in order to absorb the secondhand embarrassment. 

Nevertheless, the child continued to read, probably not comprehending the bizarreness of the situation. “He also said that you’re very lucky to have his attention -” 

Ah. 

Of course. 

Blanking out the rest of the child’s ramblings, it then occurred to Ornstein just _who_ the wean’s older brother was.

_‘Fucking Gwynsen!’_ He mentally hissed. Of course, even in a moment where he thought he’d be all by himself, sinking in a temporary peace, Gwynsen would disturb him. Ornstein hadn’t expressed any of this discontentment on his face, however - ensuring that he would not be taking out his fury on the young boy, as it was definitely not his fault. 

He felt like he was about to have a stroke. There was simply _so_ much bullshit today, Ornstein almost wanted to collapse onto the floor and melt. Streaming through his thoughts, he recognised that he was already so exhausted to the point where he did not have the heart to get any angrier. Somehow, through this incident, he could almost accept that from here on out, life would be trying its very best to aggravate him in every way possible - granting him some ironic semblance of peace; though it was not to be misunderstood - he had now gained an even worse opinion on Gwynsen. 

Recalling that he was supposed to be paying attention to the child in front of him, he broke himself out of his overextended reverie. The little boy was hopefully done by now, and Ornstein didn’t want to seem rude by starring boredly - implying that he hadn’t been as heedful as he promised to be.

True enough, the tot was gawking at him expectantly, evidently wanting to know his reaction. Ornstein groaned a thousand times over in his mind, but patted the young child’s head comfortingly and nodding. “That was good, your reading skills are fantastic,” he complimented.

The younger boy - immediately feeling the effects of Ornstein’s praise - swelled with pride, and bowed. “Thank you! Thank you so much!” It was impossible to not notice that the child, although Gwynsen’s kin, had much better mannerisms, and was much more pleasant. 

The boy, having completed his task, proceeded to skip off - leaving behind a befuddled and mentally debilitated Ornstein. Indeed, there were truly no opportunities for breathing in Ornstein’s current lifetime. 

He could only swear off speaking to Gwynsen at this point, not many other solutions offering him solace. 

* * *

Gwynsen enthusiastically bounded back and forth on his heels when he noticed that his younger brother was skipping towards him joyfully - allowing him to infer that the ‘expedition’ may _actually_ have turned out well. “How did it go?” He inquired as soon as Gwyndolin reached him.

“Great!” Gwyndolin replied. His face contained a grin almost too large for it. “He said it was good!” 

The response instantly had Gwynsen fist pumping in the air - his body lifting itself off the ground in a series of ecstatic jumps. “I told you and Eve that it would work!” Placing Gwyndolin onto his shoulders, he kicked his foot around on the mall’s tiles as he continued praising himself. “I really _am_ a genius.” 

Gwyndolin remained silent, face tumefied with a certain pride and resting on his older brother’s head. His pale legs bumped against Gwynsen’s shoulder as he kicked them around. Tugging delicately on Gwynsen’s hair and successfully catching his attention, he spoke. “Cookies! My cookies now!”

Chuckling, Gwynsen walked towards the supermarket. He reassured Gwyndolin that he’d get his cookies, and maybe even a _bonus_ \- all the while contemplating how he could play on Gwyndolin’s success, now that Ornstein had a good opinion of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like its especially important for me to note that i was having one of those night productivity bursts while writing this a few days ago and around 2 am i got hungry and went down for cashews but i dropped my phone and woke my brother up and im just sayign my brain is literally the size of a fucking pea


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SSSAD BOY HOURS!!! Im sorry this took longer than expected, as u can see, it is quite a longe boy. Have fun though!! it was a challenge to write but yee yeeeeee
> 
> Update: (1/4/2020)   
> I'm not going to be able to update until around mid - late January, in which the 30th is the latest because I'm going for exams and I need to focus on that, though I am still willing to have a chat or just a discussion in the comments! Buhbyeee

‘ _This can’t be fucking happening,_ ’ Ornstein thought. His hands were trembling violently and his eyes were blown wide - their green shade overwhelmed by a sea of white. ‘ _You’ve just_ **_got_ ** _to be fucking joking._ ’ The redhead dropped his head onto the wooden table, not even having the energy to sit upright. 

When he had received the news that he would be completing his first graded project of the semester - moreover, one to be done in pairs assigned by the professor - he had been seriously hoping for someone that he could get along with, or at the very least, someone who he knew would pull their own weight. After all, group projects were dependant the efforts of all parties involved, or at least - they were supposed to.

But no - instead, he was matched with quite literally the _worst_ possible partner he could hope for. He would even prefer to have been placed with a literal monkey - just anyone but _him._

“So,” Gwynsen started. His voice radiated its usual complacency, and as it normally did, it annoyed Ornstein to no end. “Can I actually get your phone number this time?”

Ornstein’s face contorted into a sneer - although its fearsomeness went unnoticed beneath his fan of fiery strands as he continued to rest his face on the desk. Of course that’s the first thing Gwynsen would go for - after all, he _was_ nothing but a fool who could not see past blinds of infatuation that was evidently not requited.

“What for? You’re not even going to get anything done.” His voice fully depicted his sombering defeat - a monotone coating ringing through it, assisted by the muffling of speaking into his desk. 

“I swear, I’ll actually help,” the larger male reasoned - although it didn’t sound particularly convincing. Upon noticing that Ornstein still remained unmoving, he spoke again. “Listen, I’d actually complete work if someone else’s grade was at stake.” 

That was the _most_ far fetched statement he had ever heard in his life, considering that Gwynsen had not seemed _particularly_ concerned about Ornstein’s grade when he poked and prodded at Ornstein in class. 

Oh, how he _yearned_ to decline, but alas, Ornstein knew that it would cause more bad than good if he were to do so - familiar with the fact that Gwynsen would bother him until he got it. His body had to withstand convulsing as he reluctantly lifted his head, sighing. If Gwynsen got annoying over the phone, he could easily block the man - and that would be that, he decided.

Grabbing a notepad from his bag, he quickly scribbled his phone number on it, tearing off the page and leaving it behind as he stood up abruptly. He desperately wanted to leave, hating to be in Gwynsen’s company for any longer. “Don’t text me unnecessarily. I won’t reply if it’s not about work.” Midway through packing up, Ornstein spared Gwynsen one last glance, full of antipathy. “Also, meet me at the public library tomorrow. We’ll get started there.”

“What time?” Gwynsen asked, suspiciously complying. 

Taking a moment to recall his timetable, Ornstein paused. “Three?”

Gwynsen smiled. “Yeah, that’s good!” The grin on his face was anything but charming, and the redhead seeked to snuff it out. Scoffing mutely, Ornstein draped his bag over his back. 

“Oh, and by the way? Don’t send your little brother to tell me your stupid shit. Now I know that you’re a fucking idiot too.” 

That last statement had Gwynsen’s mouth widening in a gasp. There was a clear, genuine shock on his face, almost as if he had been expecting something else. The befuddlement he expressed caused the redhead’s lip curled in disdain. Did Gwynsen sincerely believe that sending his little brother to read him a note - a horrible, conceitedly written one at that - would work?

“What, did you seriously think I would like it?”

Despite his visible embarassment, the larger male shook his head. “A-ah! No!” He nervously lied. He grabbed the note containing Ornstein’s number off the table and shoved it into his bag, throwing the rest of his tools into it as well. “I’ll go now, bye!” He hurriedly commented, speeding out the room.

  
Ornstein shoved his head into the meat of his palms. This was going to be one _long_ project.

* * *

“Linny! Linny can I come in?” Gwynsen asked, frantically knocking on his younger brother’s door. He impatiently rapped his foot on the wooden floor as he did so, causing a faint sound of clothed tapping to echo through the empty corridor.

“Okay,” Gwyndolin quietly answered from the other side. It was much fainter than it usually was, but Gwynsen, caught up in his stupor, did not take notice of it.

The moment the reply was given, Gwynsen slammed open the hatch, and stomped inside. He threw his large body on the bed - careful not to crush Gwyndolin in the process, but engendering a small ‘ _Eep!_ ’ from his brother nonetheless. 

Gwynsen lifted up his face from the sheets - his cheeks stained with a violent red. “I thought you said it went well?” He asked, no other information provided.

Gwyndolin’s features displayed all of the puzzlement that he was currently feeling. “H-huh?” 

Discerning that Gwyndolin had no idea what he was talking about, Gwynsen explained. “When you read the note to Ornstein - I thought you said it went well!” His neck was craned painfully, but he maintained the irregular position anyways in order to keep up the eye contact. 

“Oh yeah!” The smaller boy answered, catching onto what his older brother was talking about. His face flushed pink with pride as he enthusiastically responded: “He did! He said my reading skills were good!”

Ah.

So _that’s_ what was good. 

Gwyndolin’s words had taken a moment to register in Gwynsen’s brain, his mind needing to buffer. He felt like an unserviced television channel - one that displayed mottled dots on its screen.

“I see,” Gwynsen mumbled, slamming his head back onto the bed. He breathed into it steadily, the vapour from his breaths fogging in his face. Maybe Gwynevere _was_ right. Maybe that plan hadn’t gone as well as he thought it did. In fact, Ornstein probably thought that he had bullied his little brother into it - perhaps intensifying the already abhorrent view the redhead had of him. 

He really _was_ bad at this and his chances were _definitely_ ruined now - but then again, he had really only ever gone for one night stands that moreover, acted as coping mechanisms before, causing him to be dreadfully dense and atrocious to anything other than unattached sex. Despite his arrogance convincing him previously that he’d succeed, he knew now that his boastful approach had completely bit him in his ass. 

‘ _I’m such a fucking_ **_mess,_ **’ he suddenly registered, the thought bouncing itself a thousand times over against the walls of his skull as he sunk himself into the mattress. 

Gwynsen was determined to not be broken from his moment of self pity - a rare occasion of wallowing that he barely allowed himself to experience - until a soft cough resounded in the walls of the room. At first, it was not alarming and only attention catching, until Gwyndolin had mumbled apologetically and broken out into even more coughs.

Scrambling to sit upright, Gwynsen pushed himself up and placed a hand on his younger brother’s forehead, gauging his temperature. “Are you okay?” He asked, upon realising that Gwyndolin’s was starting to experience pyrexia - the usual symptom of an upcoming fever.

Gwyndolin nodded. “I’m fine, it’s just the usual.”

Gwynsen breathed heavily, and his mind was still soaked with worry. “You don’t need to see a doctor, right?” The last thing he wanted was for Gwyndolin to feel sick and not tell anyone, which - inevitably - would cause his illness to worsen even further. 

“No,” the younger boy insisted. It was the same thing again; with Gwyndolin standing firm in not seeing a doctor as he felt it would ‘waste time,’ but needing to in the end anyways. In spite of this, Gwynsen learned not to push - as it would always cause humiliation in his brother, which he hated to see. 

“But,” the child started. “I do wanna nap,” Gwyndolin’s words were punctuated with a yawn as he leaned back against his pillows. “Can you wake me up when big sister Gwynevere comes home for tea? I’d like to eat with her.”

“Okay,” Gwynsen replied. He could not risk troubling Gwyndolin or sending him into a panic, so instead, he faked calmness. “Call me if you need anything.” 

The tot hummed drowsily as he nodded off - his large cheeks sunken into the thick white of the plush pillow. The child would inescapably feel ill later on, but an early rest would at least negate some of its symptoms. 

Gwynsen stood up from the bed and walked towards the entryway, turning off the lights to grant Gwyndolin a more peaceful rest. Suspiring dejectedly, Gwynsen gazed at his brother with a heavy heart. It was always difficult to see Gwyndolin like this - especially since the boy had been plagued with said periodic attacks of sickness since the day he was born. 

However, he was thankful that this bout had not seemed too severe - with Gwyndolin still managing to speak to him despite his impending sickness. No doubt about it, Gwyndolin - as well as he insisted to feel - would most likely contract a fever later on, and though he wished that he was wrong every time, he never was.

‘ _I just hope that it’s not as bad this time,_ ’ he thought - as he always did.

* * *

By the time that the alarm on his phone rang - indicating that it was 4:45 - as a reminder to ensure that he would wake Gwyndolin up, he was already by said child’s bedside; a maid having worriedly called for him earlier, informing him off Gwyndolin’s burning fever. 

“What’s that for?” Gwyndolin’s voice was hoarse as he spoke, sending a pang of commiseration through Gwynsen. He lay fraily on the bed, unable to move. Shallowly trying to breathe, his face turned pale - devoid of oxygen and floodflow; the only colour on his cheeks was his italicised veins - which provided a harsh purple contrast, kindling a bruised appearance on the young boy.

It was always harrowing - in every expression of feverish induced pain by his brother, Gwynsen saw a newborn Gwyndolin - weakly crying in the doctor’s arms, while his mother’s dying frame - surrounded by himself, a crying Gwynevere, and a Filianore that was all too young to understand the severity of the situation, and yet sobbing because the other children were as well - lifelessly lay on the bed.

He could recall that her normally bright features had turned dull, blending into the snowstorm outside the hospital. Her hair - originally a deep brown - seemed hazel and insipid, as did her face. There was an ever flowing, unstoppable gush of blood seeping from her womb, and though the doctors did all they could, she ultimately ended up under the earth - or perhaps, back in the clouds where a younger version of himself envisioned she’d be.

The worst part was that Gwyn - his own father - was no where to be found, and while it was arguable that he had no way of foreseeing these events transpiring, Gwynsen would always tempestuously speculate as to why he had not been present for Gwyndolin’s birth in the first place.

He bitterly soaked in his recollections, angrily cursing the unfairness of it all. There was no reason as to why Gwyndolin had to suffer so much when even his birth, an occasion of supposed celebration, served as an unhappy diagnose as well as doubling as a funeral.

However, realising that feeling doleful in such an instance was selfish - especially when _he_ wasn’t even the one suffering - Gwynsen forced himself to occlude his passage of misery. Of course, in reality, he was being far from egotistical, but a near decade of sorrow had wrongly taught him that invalidation could somehow equate to being strong. 

Gwynsen rubbed Gwyndolin’s head tenderly, not wanting to inconsiderately grieve when Gwyndolin had it so much worse. “Ah, it’s nothing. I just forgot to turn it off,” he explained. Setting the alarm to sleep, he turned off his phone once more. The device sat ablaze in his grip - subconsciously reminding him of what else had to be done in due of Gwyndolin’s sickness, though he ignored it for now. “Linny, do you have to see the doctor?”

“Nuh-uh,” the smaller boy uttered. “This is the same thing as last time, so I just need to keep taking my medicine.”

“Okay,” Gwynsen solemnly replied. “Can you tell me if you need to see one though?”

Nodding faintly, Gwyndolin pulled the covers back up to his chin. He wormed himself deeper under the heap of blankets in order to warm himself up, and shut his eyes. “Can you get the maids to bring up some water? I’m thirsty.”

The two siblings stated their farewells, leaving Gwyndolin to sleep. Gwynsen - on his way out - politely instructed a maid to leave a jug of water out on his brother’s desk, making sure to add that she was to refill it whenever it emptied as well.

He made his way over to his room, and when he reached, sat on the side of his bed. Subconsciously, he eyes trailed to the chair that was stationed by the windowsill. His room - although a mess - was always pristine in that area, with Gwynsen always avoiding cluttering seat’s surroundings. It was almost like an oasis: an area of order among the desolate thorns of cluster. With every glance he spared to the chair’s directions - particularly when under the fluttering moonlight - he saw his mother’s form sitting on it, a much younger version of himself on her lap while having his messy mane combed. 

His room, as she once stated, was one of her favourite places. Gwynsen could recall that on the day before Gwyndolin was born, he had lay on the floor beside her, reading one of his many comic books. By then he had grown to be far too heavy to rest himself against her, especially when she was carrying a delicate babe in her womb. She had smiled kindly at him, reminding him to be a good brother - but also reassuring him that there was no doubt in her heart that he’d end up being one. After all, she had already seen such sweetness in him whenever he played with Gwynevere or spent time with Filianore, gratifying all of their childish desires whether in the form of dolls or being held.

His rows of teeth grinded against each other. It had always been absolutely agonising to recollect aspects of his mother and her habits: said memories having a tendency to resurface whenever Gwyndolin fell ill. He had hoped for a long time now that one day, he’d be able to remember her fondly and without any hurt, but that age still seemed far from now. 

Nevertheless - no matter how painfully - life carried on - and it would not wait for him; he simply had to care for his younger siblings as his mother would’ve, even more so when he learnt that Gwyn would grow even more absent after his mother’s death. As such, he had placed on a mask on his entire being: one that would masquerade even the smallest detail, starting from his face to his personality - eventually causing it to be second nature.

Gwynsen could not allow himself to cry. Even in times of privacy, he had to be strong for everyone else. If he could force out a smile or even crack a joke - no matter how uncomedic - there was hope that the others would do the same. 

He stared down at his hands, his eyes empty and his mouth tightly sealed. He found that nowadays, even if he wanted to, he could not sob: far too deep into the road of emotional repression. Sighing softly, he took out his phone from its storage spot in his pocket, remembering what he had to do now that Gwyndolin was sick.

Pretense - whether of happiness or pain - bloomed thorns of deeply rooted hatred, and Gwynsen was being pricked.

* * *

Ornstein glanced at his phone, raising an eyebrow at the rapidly appearing messages from his idiotic project partner. 

_From: Rat, Just Now_

_Hwewheue HI is this ornsteIN_

_mAN i rly dont wanna flake but like_

_Igotta cancel tomorrow_

_My little brother is sick_

The redhead scoffed. Ah, it was just as he anticipated; it was only a matter of when.

_From: You, Just Now_

_Of course, lol_

_How could I expect anything else._

His messages had carried the exact energy he wanted - of overpowering sarcasm and (not so passive) passive aggression.

_From: Rat, Just Now_

_I sWEAR EHS ACTALYL sick_

‘ _What a disgsuting lie,_ ’ Ornstein bitterly thought in reaction, followed by: ‘ _If he was going to lie, couldn’t he at least not make it about someone else’s health?_ ’ Whatever it was, Ornstein wanted to entertain Gwynsen no longer, and so instead, opted to go for the most plain response he could muster.

_From: You, Just Now_

_Yeah okay_

There was a momentary pause - one in which Gwynsen had stopped replying for the next six minutes or so, and Ornstein had believed that that was to be the end of the conversation for good. He would carry the project just as he knew he would, and the two would be on their way; Ornstein would go back to ignoring him, and Gwynsen would continue being an annoyance.

However - he was soon to discover that his hypothesis was to be incorrect, when shockingly, Gwynsen had replied as so:

_From: Rat, Just Now_

_Actually u kno what_

_Do u wanna come over tmr_

_I need to watch over my bro but i promsied you id work so_

His initial amazement had collapsed into a pit of the usual fury he felt whenever he interacted with Gwynsen. It was such a sick, disgusting attempt at getting Ornstein into his house, and Ornstein refused to even grace the other male with a response. 

He switched off his phone, plugging it to his charger and leaving it on his desk. His plush yellow blankets had seemed so inviting, more so now that it was confirmed that the pair project would become his solo assignment. There was a long road of work ahead, and he would need sufficient energy to traverse it.

While he was preparing to sleep - his crimson hair being combed to detangle any bunched up strands - Artorias had slammed the door open, causing him to drop his hair brush in surprise. He was used to Artorias’ antics, however, resultantly leaving him to be unable to find any anger in his friend.

“You’re seeing Gwynsen tomorrow, right?” The taller male asked, box in hand. “Can you pass this to him? It’s his jersey.”

Ornstein sneered; said action apparently becoming his immediate reaction to anything Gwynsen related. “I’m not seeing him tomorrow, he called it off.” 

Artorias raised an eyebrow, obviously confused. Perhaps he had thought Gwynsen a faithful man who kept his promises, but even to Ornstein - a stranger, nonetheless - he knew that Gwynsen was anything but that. Though, it was not the redhead’s fault that he thought so - given that Gwynsen had shown him little earnesty or any desire to work. “Oh? Why?”

“He said his brother’s sick - but it’s probably bullshit.” Ornstein rolled his eyes.

The statement had Artorias shaking his head, his facial aspects smouldering with distress. “Oh damn - no dude, I think he’s serious,” Artorias explained, placing the box on the floor. He pulled the chair from Ornstein’s desk, and sat on it backwards - his head leaning on the backrest. “His brother - Gwyndolin - gets sick easily. Some medical thing since he was born.”

In response to Artorias’ clarification, Ornstein’s mouth gaped open slightly. He quirked his face, unknowingly expressing his shock. “W-what?” He asked, still unsure as to whether Gwynsen’s honesty was a phenomenon that could occur or not.

Artorias firmly nodded. “Yeah, and the dude would never joke about that - so if he said Gwyndolin’s sick, he’s probably sick.”

Ornstein could feel a twinge of guilt slithering up his sleeve, similar to the way a snake would. He glanced over at where his phone sat on his bedside table, and then back at Artorias. The redhead gulped. “Okay, leave the box here then. I’ll take it to him.”

“Huh?” The basketball player was very clearly confused, which - by all means - was reasonable. “I thought he cancelled?”

Pushing his loosened hair from his face, Ornstein sighed. “He asked me to meet him at his house. I thought it was a sick attempt on trying to get me to go over.” The honours student had expected a barrage of jokes from his friend: ones that would poke fun at him for his pessimism and constant assumptions for the worst, but instead, he only received a sympathetic look - paired with an equally understanding smile.

“Yeah, I get that.” Artorias snickered. “After all, he probably hasn’t given you the best impression.”

Ornstein snorted. “Yeah, he’s like you, but even more annoying.”

The ravenette loudly guffawed. He slammed his hand on the chair’s backrest, his long hair tussling. “Hey dude! That’s fucking uncalled for!” 

Half smiling by now, Ornstein flicked his middle finger upwards and laughed as well. “You knew it was coming.”

“Ugh, I did, but I had _trust_ in you!” Artorias said, gripping his shirt on the spot that directly covered his heart. The two were continued laughing hysterically - Artorias much more so than Ornstein - until they both ran out of breath, forcing them to calm down. In due time, the chuckling dissolved into a silence; though it was not uncomfortable. 

Leisurely, Artorias stood up. He pushed the chair back in its original position, and placed the box on the floor. “Okay, I’m just gonna leave it here then.” He grinned smugly, and Ornstein could already tell that he was going to say something stupid. “Goodnight Pikachu!” The larger male called out as he left - the exclamation echoing through the corridor. 

Flipping the bird once more, Ornstein said nothing. He was aware that Artorias couldn’t see him, but as the saying goes, it was the thought that counted. The redhead, grabbing his phone from the table, exhaled deeply. The world really _was_ out to get him.

_From: You, Just Now_

_Whats your address_

* * *

Ornstein’s jaw hung wide open as he gazed upon the imposing piece of property that Gwynsen called ‘home.’ Truly, the structure was majestic in a beautifully vintage way, with its grandeur emphasised by its architecture. Its splendour could not even be described in words, and he was twitching when he remembered that a family had genuinely found normalcy in this place - somehow calling it home.

He tightened his grip on the cardboard box. Even if he had promised himself that he would not be intimidated by any imperious rich boy - or his belongings - it was hard to keep true to it. Clenching his teeth, he continued walking up the white granite pathway past the gates, and into the estate. 

Right as he was about to ring the doorbell - his hand already stretched upwards - an elderly woman clad in white and grey swung the door open, and bowed her head. “Ser Ornstein, I believe?” She politely greeted, still not leaving her pose.

“Yes - yes, I’m Ornstein.” He nodded, even though he knew that she could not see him. It seemed that as hard as he tried, his nerves were still prominent and buzzing, causing a speckled sensation in his head. 

The lady - presumably a maid - finally lifted up her upper body, and gestured to the right. Her elderly features had a certain dignity to it - stern in a way that priests were. “Please follow me then, ser.”

Travelling behind the domestic servant in silence, Ornstein was taken up the right flight of the mansion’s stairs - past many shelves of pottery pieces and expensive paintings. However, it was extremely noticeable that although the house was tastefully decorated with antiques, it felt rather impersonal - and not at all what a home was like. Everything was immaculate in a pretentious way - but nonetheless - he only knew Gwynsen as an idiotic fool, and perhaps that was why anything mildly impressive seemed unfitting. 

Eventually, the pair had reached a lightly coloured door, to which the woman knocked on it gently. “Young Master Gwynsen, Ser Ornstein has arrived, ” she announced.

The sound of muffled footsteps resounded from the other side of the gate, stopping only when Gwynsen unlatched the door, and stuck his head out of it. He glanced at the maid, his face breaking out in a massive grin when he saw Ornstein. “Oh! Come on in, dude.” It was much too friendly for his liking. They were not friends, but Ornstein forced himself to shut his mouth anyways - not wanting any awkwardness since he was in Gwynsen's home, surrounded by Gwynsen's staff. 

Bowing in response, the maid inaudibly declared her exit. She left in a way that reminded Ornstein of a benevolent ghost - fleeting, and without fanfare. 

The shorter male tore his eyes away from the sight of the lady, pulling the box from under his arm and shoving it on Gwynsen’s chest. “Artorias asked me to give this to you,” he stated. He moved forward, not wanting to explain more - to which the taller male moved aside, allowing Ornstein in.

The room lead to an open double-doored balcony, causing the room to be illuminated in a brilliant natural light. The white curtains - drawn to the side - fluttered in the gale, appearing almost like a greeting war banner in the fray. Beyond them, however, revealed a rounded table - a golden, triple tiered dessert plate, filled with macaroons and similar confectionery treats - on it. 

Ornstein drew out a chair from the table, preparing to sit on it, until his eyes caught sight of a familiar boy - except this time, there was so much less childlike wonder in his being. Gwyndolin - if he recalled from Artorias correctly - was seated at the table, presumably so that Gwynsen could watch him - his face completely devoid of colour and his orbs blank.

The young boy appeared to be solving equations, not noticing Ornstein. He had an arm leaned on the table as the other neatly wrote down answers. Against his back, a thick blanket was draped against him - adding to the insulation that his woolen turtleneck already provided. 

“Ah, sorry! He’s sick so I’m watching him,” Gwynsen explained, noticing Ornstein’s gaze. He seemed unwilling to explain any further, however, and neither Ornstein did want to ask. “Should we get started though? Gwyndolin won’t be a bother, promise!” 

The redhead snickered sarcastically. “It’s not him that I think would be a nuisance,” he mumbled as he retrieved his laptop from its case and placed it on the table. “Anyways, I was thinking that we could split the criteria, so that we each do different categories,” he explained.

Gwynsen - oddly enough - had not seemed to take any offense from the statement. Instead, he still bore a wide smile on his face. Somehow, Ornstein noted, the dark circles under the taller male’s eyes were only visible now, when they were under such a powerful light. 

_'He really must've been telling the truth - he looks like he's been up all night worrying about his brother,'_ Ornstein inwardly admitted.

“Come on man! Put some faith in me,” Gwynsen lightheartedly stated. He kicked his leg upwards, resting them on the table in a show of horrible table manners - not really emphasising his point.

Scoffing, Ornstein responded. “It’s not like you’ve given me much reason to.” 

Quietly, Gwynsen chuckled. The larger male leaned against the chair, leaving two of the seat’s legs hovering in the air. “I guess not, huh.” 

The reply had surprised Ornstein, somehow. It was an unusually compliant response, and he had anticipated another pointless remark - one that would be attemptedly comedic and yet the worst thing Ornstein had ever heard - but alternatively, that was all Gwynsen offered. 

“You really haven’t,” Ornstein confirmed. Suspiring heavily, he rubbed his head with his hand. There was not an ounce of his being that desired to continue having a meager conversation with a useless flirt - one who had done nothing but been an annoyance. The shorter male’s trust of Gwynsen remained as unwaveringly little, but he simply wanted to progress. “Okay, let’s get this over with.” 

Ornstein opened up the project files on his computer; having already planned out the format and general layout, he simply informed Gwynsen - not so much as to asking for approval, but more of stating what would happen. To his amazement, Gwynsen had only nodded - though not adding anything, he had not made any futile jokes either - which pleased Ornstein to no end.

It was roughly thirty minutes before they ran into their first hurdle; one in which Ornstein chose not to speak about, but went noticed anyways. The redhead, not quite sure how to fully meet an aspect of the criteria, stared aggressively at his computer’s screen - eyebrows furrowing. The wording of the digital rubric on his device seemed a menace in the moment, as it sat there, as vague as possible.

“Need help?” Gwynsen sincerely offered, observing that his partner had begun looking even more frustrated than usual. 

“No,” Ornstein stubbornly lied. There was a venom in his words, one that seeked to corrode its victims from the inside out. “Not from you, at least.” The last thing he wanted was any assistance from Gwynsen; in the first place, the likeliness of said male’s advice being helpful was not any more than that of the mark scheme magically adjusting right there and then.

Still, Gwynsen seemed untroubled. He only laughed Ornstein’s remark off, while the small smile on his face never left, and if anything, only grew. “Hey! We’re partners right? Lemme help!” 

He had been through this before. If he continued insisting, Gwynsen would only get more annoying, and Ornstein would have to deal with an avoidable bout of anger. He exhaled deeply.

Rotating his laptop so Gwynsen could see it, he pointed to a group of words on its side. “This is the rubric, and it’s fucking horrible, but I understood most of it.” He highlighted the font in the document, causing Gwynsen’s eyes to zero in on them. “This - this I don’t get.”

Gwynsen squinted, looking at the tiny print in confusion. ‘ _Told you so,_ ’ he mocked mentally. He _knew_ Gwynsen wasn’t going to get it - much less, help him debunk it. ‘ _This was a waste of time. I was better off trying to get it on my own._ ’

“Why don’t you just quote an example, then?” The white haired male inquired, shocking Ornstein greatly.

He could only raise an eyebrow in response, absolutely surprised that he was given a seemingly useful recommendations. “W-what?” 

“Yeah, because y’know, it tells you that you’ve got to use the keywords, and yet it wants you to not explain it in the question’s terms right?” Gwynsen asked, trying to confirm his thoughts. “So then you can just - put an example and quote them there. Talk about how they’re affected as well, which makes your other points look better too.”

Glancing over at Ornstein - his expression still one of astonishment - Gwynsen cringed. The movement accentuated his eyebags even further, causing him to look even more exhausted. “Ah, fuck. You probably thought of that already and it didn’t work, huh? Sorry, guess I really can’t help.”

Ornstein hesitantly shook his head. “No - no.” He took his laptop back. “You’re right, can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”

“I- I am?” Gwynsen repeated; his grin escalated into a full on beam. “I mean, course I am! I’m a fucking _genius,_ ” he said, careful to not shout it in order to not disturb his brother. 

Despite his cockiness - which Ornstein would usually be irritated at - it seemed that there was a hidden brilliance in the larger male. One that he was most likely often too lazy to express - or perhaps, one he hid to enunciate his comedic behaviour. Somehow, from there on, actual progression was being made; though it did not go unnoticed by Ornstein that Gwynsen’s eyes would blink languidly once in a while, exhibiting his fatigue. 

Mayhaps that was why Gwynsen had made no attempt to make any suggestive comments regarding Ornstein’s being, and mayhaps that was also why he was so exceptionally muted. Nonetheless, Ornstein reveled in this pleasant change of Gwynsen’s personality - the two of them genuinely immersed in their work.

It was perhaps two and a half hours in when a faint cough could be heard, provoking Gwynsen’s head to snap up. He violently angled his head, allowing him to glance at his brother. The little boy sat hunched over on his chair, weakly tightening his grip on his fleece duvet. His face had turned even paler - a complete contrast to the orange winter sun.

“Linny? Are you okay?” Gwynsen inquired, rushing to his brother’s chair. He flung his backwards with how abruptly he stood, but cared not for it.

Gwyndolin ducked his head as he coughed into his hands. “I can’t really breathe,” the tot weakly clarified. “Can you help me get my inhaler?”

Instantaneously, Gwynsen rushed out of the room in order to fulfill his sibling’s request, leaving only Ornstein and Gwyndolin in the room. 

“Hey, do you need help with anything?” Orstein asked, getting off his chair to kneel besides Gwyndolin as well. At first, he had thought it awkward to attend to his most disliked person's sibling, but Gwyndolin was not his brother, and therefore, should not have been defined by Gwynsen's deeds. “Is the blanket not thick enough? You can have my jacket for now, if you want.”

Gwyndolin nodded - far too weak and uncomfortable to deny the offer. “Yes please, and I’m sorry.” His face bleached even further as he spoke, his lungs screaming while he hacked away in breaths. 

Ornstein lifted up Gwyndolin’s blanket, and draped his coat over Gwyndolin. He then placed back the blanket to where it was before - to which the wean immediately cuddled up to the new warmth. “There’s no need to say sorry. Talking makes your throat hurt, so just rest, okay?” He rubbed Gwyndolin’s head gently, soothing a hand down the child’s back. “Drink something nice for your throat too,” he said, pausing for a moment. “I’ll send your brother a recipe for a nice honey tea, it always works really well for me.”

Shortly after, Gwynsen reappeared - a metallic tube in his grasp. He darted over to where the two were stood, not noticing - or at least not mentioning - Ornstein’s white winter coat on Gwyndolin’s frame, jutting out from under the blanket.

“Here you go.” He offered the vial to his brother, crouching to permit proper eye contact with Gwyndolin. Gwynsen then fetched another bottle - this one plastic - filled with a thick, purple liquid that Ornstein recognised as a catholicon.

The young boy immediately took the bottle - downing a quarter of it in a single gulp. He stared at the other jug with disdain. “I don’t want to drink the medicine,” Gwyndolin shakily muttered. “It’s icky and it burns.”

“I know,” Gwynsen soothingly consoled. “But I’ll buy you something really tasty when you recover okay? It’ll be ten times more yummy than this syrup is gross.”

It was strange, to say the least; that in here of all places - Gwynsen’s castle of a home - he looked and acted more like a normal, down to earth, boy than anywhere else. Evidently, Ornstein did not gain a magically occuring liking to the other male, but the light that shone on him had shifted to a significantly lighter shade.  
  


When Ornstein glanced at the frail wean once more, he noted that although Gwyndolin’s face did not appear any happier, he downed the syrup anyways. Promptly after, he had begun coughing again - however this time, it seemed to be less out of illness and more due to repugnance. 

“You need to go to the clinic, don’t you,” Gwynsen asked. From the tone of his voice, everyone could deduce that he already knew the answer. 

The young boy’s face held an expression of shame as he spoke. “Yeah, I’m sorry I’m a bother.” 

“Don’t apologise,” Gwynsen assured, rubbing Gwyndolin’s head all the while. He then placed a kiss on the crown of his brother’s head, and lifted up the younger boy. “You’ll never be a bother,” he whispered, and then: “I love you.”

Ornstein was impressed; not just by Gwynsen's doting acts, but by how unashamed he was of them. He was by no means one of Gwynsen's biggest fans - but just this time, he'd confess his approval. He watched as said older sibling then turned to face him, Gwynsen's features scrunched up in a portrayal of grief. “I’m sorry, I-”

He was cut off by Ornstein holding up a hand. “It's fine, I understand.” The redhead closed his laptop, slipping it back into its case. “I’ll go, then.” Smiling kindly, he made eye contact with Gwyndolin. “Get well soon, Gwyndolin. Make sure to get lots of rest, okay?” 

“Mhm,” Gwyndolin hummed. “Thank you.”

The student left the room, not wanting to keep the two any longer. He followed the path he had taken on his way up - trudging down the lonely hallway, into the stairwell, and finally, out the manor. 

Standing on the pavement - careful to avoid any delicately trimmed shrubs or flora - Ornstein texted Gough, informing his friend that their session had ended earlier than expected, and requesting to be picked up. He couldn’t help but ponder about Gwynsen, no matter how much he disliked said man. He was a complete enigma - infuriating, but a mystery. From what Ornstein had noticed today, he had easily had the capabilities to succeed in life, but chose to waste time away acting ridiculous instead.

Oh well, Ornstein supposed that this was just another example of the privileges of being born with a silver spoon in his mouth. The fact that Gwynsen was not only gifted riches but also a natural intellectual gift only angered Ornstein more, as it occurred to him that Gwynsen barely even had to try if he chose to.

However, as the honours student stepped into his friend’s car and into the passenger seat, his mind simply could not resist thinking about how caring Gwynsen was towards his brother - as well as how drained he seemed - the acts of Gwynsen lovingly tending to his brother becoming even more admirable. Initially, Ornstein had thought him a bully; one that forced his brother into reading a repulsive note to try and earn some favour points, but just from witnessing today’s events, Ornstein knew that wasn’t true. 

It was clear to see that Gwynsen genuinely loved his brother, and held no shame in said affection. Where others may have found a sickly child - who furthermore, was a sibling, and not offspring - an inconvenience, the aforementioned male in turn found a wonder; one that he would care for and spend time with willingly. That was a trait that Ornstein could truly respect - especially as an older brother who had also basically raised their sibling.

‘ _I guess he_ **_may_ ** _have some good qualities,_ ’ Ornstein begrudgingly thought, staring out at the blurring cityscape. He glanced down at his hands - his phone in his grip. Weighing his options, Ornstein sighed - and opened his messenger app. 

_From: You, Just Now_

_Here's the recipe for a tea that may help Gwyndolin feel better._

He exhaled deeply before dispatching another text.

_From: You, Just Now_

_I hope he gets well soon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapters a MESS and im so sorry but i really struggled to portray everyone since this chapter was mega development hours (tm)
> 
> Hope you all had fun reading it though!! The next update might take awhile, however, as I am about to enter exams :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT HURTS SO FUCKING BAD
> 
> first of all, im so sorry about how late I am. I got home after exams and then played ds3 for 89 hours. Its been great. Right after, I began school, so now i'm dying, but yes. I am SO sorry,,,,
> 
> This chapter was extra extra extra difficult to write +++ it was really long so: i hope you guys enjoy it! Thank you for being so patient :)

It had been a few weeks since the whole incident with Gwyndolin’s sickness had transpired - with said boy recovering well and feeling much better. Ornstein had found that as soon as the episode had ended, Gwynsen had returned to being his usual unbearable self - though the slightly better impression that the redhead had developed had stuck. 

The two would meet up once a week, while for the most part, they had worked on it from home on a shared Google document. During those sessions, however, Ornstein ensured that the conversations were business only, not replying to any remarks regarding any other topics. It was safe to say that the wall he had put up had not only stayed, but also successfully kept out any unwanted guests. 

Ornstein sighed, leaning against his chair. His untied strands of crimson dipped downwards as he cracked his neck - tilting from side to side. He had so many things to do, even when today - a saturday - was supposedly his ‘free’ day. 

As Artorias had a sports meeting and Ciaran was helping Gough with his art supply shopping - in which tomorrow was _his_ and Artorias’ turn to go to the mall - it had become his responsibility to not only complete his college work, but to also take care of all and any arising chores until the others came home: this in which also included caring for Sif. 

He rose from his seat, exasperated and already wanting to return to it. Putting his hair into its usual ponytail - but forgoing his customary braids - he walked out the door, only to be immediately greeted by an over excited Sif running circles around him.

In the short time he had known her she had adapted incredibly well - her frame already widening as she rapidly grew; she was only a pup - perhaps one of two to four months - but her gleaming personality was that of the sun. She was sweet in all the ways that hounds were known to be: loyal, friendly, and affectionate all around. 

However, it was not to be mistaken: Sif was a lovely, intelligent dog who was better than most, sure, but in the first place, Ornstein had simply never _liked_ dogs. They caused far too many messes for his liking - with their uncontrollable licking habits and the _ungodly_ odour they diffused from their bodies when wet. 

All of these traits caused him to grimace as he continued walking across the living room and into the apartment’s kitchen, with Sif still cheerfully prancing behind him - much to his dismay. 

Reaching for the watering tin - which, with the plants, were now indoors due to the chilly weather - and then filling it with water, he dutifully poured it onto the plants - making sure to distribute amounts that were suited to each species of verdure. At the same time, he sunned out Gough’s newly painted flower pots on the windowsill - each receptacle with varying vibrant designs of flowers - to dry, as instructed. 

While it was only the second week of November, Anor Londo had already begun snowing - with the weather beginning to enter a wintery state since October. In turn, the weather changes were extremely odd to Ornstein - who originated from the northern outskirts of Lothric; said conurbation only experiencing true winter in december. 

Ornstein exhaled deeply, attempting to warm himself up. He was simply not used to needing to wear turtlenecks or threaded sweaters indoors so early in the year; though it was not particularly unpleasant. 

He subconsciously proceeded to the next chore as soon as he had completed the current one - almost like how a chain ran through neverending binds and loops, all while Sif unyieldingly trailed behind him - now in silence, after recognising that he was fully concentrating even while handling the most menial of tasks. Mentally, he had been ticking off completed duties the entire time, not wanting to leave anything unfinished.

It was around two o’clock when he had finished his last chore - and after showering and securing that Sif was not to leave the carpet (lest she wished to leave his room,) returned to his desk and once more, started typing away at work pieces.

‘ _This is the most relaxed day I’ve had in such a long time,_ ’ Ornstein thought, despite not feeling at ease in the slightest. Something was going to happen - he just _knew_ it. Not a day since his birth had been peaceful, and life would likely continue that pattern.

* * *

Gwynsen felt like crying.

It had been so long since he felt remorse like this; despite the situation not being his fault, his heart had clambered into his larynx, making it hard to speak.

He was crouched onto the floor - at eye level with his near-sobbing little sister - post yet again, another disappointing, rage inducing phone call with the man he called his father. He clenched his fists, patiently waiting for Filianore to speak.

“What do you mean daddy’s not coming home?” Filianore asked, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.

The little girl clutched the rim of her layered dress - the pieces in which was delivered to her yesterday, and made of only the finest chiffon and silks, but Gwyn was a fool to think that anything physical could compensate for his absence. 

“Listen, Fili,” Gwynsen started. He was not quite sure where his speech was going himself, so instead, he opted to talk less with his brain, and more from his heart. “I know it’s your birthday, but he just called and-”

“I know,” Filianore cut in. “I know, but he’s never celebrated with me before and I- I wanted this to be the first.” She roughly wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, the other still fisted tightly in her dresses’ fabric. It was obvious that she was trying her very best to still herself - to simply stop crying - but her fallen hopes had lead to a sharp drop, and as a result, racked her mind with disappointment.

Gwynsen exhaled, trying to calm himself down. Guiltily holding his arms out, he offered to hold her. “Do you want to hug?” He inquired. When she had softly mumbled a _‘yes’_ , he took her into his grip, giving to her the warmest embrace he could muster. “Okay then, let’s hug.” 

The child’s body shook as she cried, her tears wetting the crook of his neck. “This means it’s just us again, right?”

“Yeah,” Gwynsen hesitantly confirmed after a short pause. “It does, I’m sorry. But at least we’re together right?” He kissed the crown of his sister’s head, hoping to lessen her sadness. “Is that okay?”

He could feel her tiny hands grip into her shirt as she desperately wanted to say no, but she ducked her head and nodded anyways. He knew that it was not the material objects that she had longed for - not the cakes or the extra presents her father promised to bring. It was his company that she desperately wished to have, as she yearned to be loved by her parent the same way every other child did.

“I’m really sorry,” Gwynsen apologised - kissing her forehead again. “I should’ve seen it coming and gotten prepared better-”

“No.” Filianore spoke quietly, but it overpowered his voice similarly to how a booming echo would. “It’s not your fault.”

Not wanting to push it any further, Gwynsen sighed in defeat. There was no point in blaming himself when Filianore - the actual victim - had pledged for his innocence. 

“I think I’m gonna go nap.” The wean rubbed her eyes tiredly. Her lids were heavy and puffed, but the condition was easily fixed so long as she rested. 

The large male - though in the moment he felt small - nodded. “Okay, that’s good.” He released her from his grasp, but her hand was still in his. He squeezed the appendage in what he hoped would come across as reassuringly. “Happy birthday, Fili,” he wished. 

He watched as she tilted her head to the ground and tried to not appear sorrowfully, not saying another word as she walked off in the direction of her room.

Sighing, he pulled at his hair. He wished things could be different - not even for himself, but simply for his siblings. They shouldn’t have had to grow up without both parents - especially when one had a choice as to whether he would be present or not.

He had to remedy Gwyn’s mistake somehow; or at the very least, soften the blow. No way was he going to allow Filianore’s birthday to crumble like this - not when she had such high expectations due to his father’s unfulfilled, empty promises.

He texted Gwynevere - quickly informing her of what had transpired.. 

_From: You, Just Now_

_Dad cancelled on filis birthday again hahahahahsakjdhsaus_

_What a fucking SURPRISE_

_Best dad in the world award_

_“Im gonna be here this year okay i will definitely come home”_

_YEssir, i see that now_

Gwynsen threw his phone onto the carpeted floor, hating everything in the moment. Filianore deserved better - _everyone_ deserved better. Gwyn had barely even raised Gwyndolin - most of the youngest child’s care coming from Gwynsen himself, with his father only issuing orders on when to take Gwyndolin to appointments.

He held his head in his hands, his fingers lightly massaging his scalp. He only stopped when his phone let out a _‘ping!’_ indicating that Gwynevere had responded.

_From: The Bigger Small Sis_

_Oh no :(_

_He’s absolutely sure he can’t come?_

_He promised her lots of things this year_

Gwynsen sneered. That was exactly it. He had declared many things, and had not even been able to tick off the smallest vow of _attendance._

It was even worse when it had dawned upon the male that his father had also promised her a cake - one that he would customise for her specifically. Eventually, this thought had beaten itself around his brain enough times to cause a flaring migraine - leading to Gwynsen recapturing his head, and clutching his temple in distress.

_From: You, Just Now_

_Lmaoooooo hes never fucking shown up before_

_I shouldnt have expected him this time_

_Now we dont have shit_

His bitterness seemed to seep from his bloodstream and into his phone, corroding his text messages like a putrid acid. He hoped that Gwyn would one day look at his phone and see them - whether by accident, or not.

_From: The Bigger Small Sis_

_That's horrible._

_I can’t even come home early to bake something for her :(_

_It’s my last day for the graded group project and I have to work on it, I’m so sorry_

Her replies had almost made him feel worse. He hadn’t meant to guilt trip her - and he definitely didn’t want her to get upset. That was his job. Gwynevere was still young and in her first year of university. He should have waited until she was done to tell her about Gwyn’s deeds.

_From: You, Just Now_

_Its ok its not ur fault dont apologise pls_

_Gah damn i hate that fucking piece of shit_

Thankfully, Gwynevere - despite her dislike for his uncouth vocabulary - always knew when he used cursing as a form of venting, and so let him pass this time.

_From: The Bigger Small Sis_

_I understand, just please don’t feel bad as well_

_I have to go now - I’ll try to come home earlier._

That was it, Gwynsen supposed. It was left up to him and only him to try and stitch back the seams of Filianore’s birthday; no one had said it, but he already knew. From the outside, it had seemed like such a simple, mundane situation, but Gwynsen knew full well the extent of Filianore’s wish of having a parental figure in her life - a void that no matter how hard he tried, he felt he could never fully fill.

In an act of desperation, he texted the only person he knew he could fully trust - Artorias.

_From: You, Just Now_

_Ok so_

_My absolute scumbag of a father isnt showing up to my sisters birthday_

_And shes so sad_

_He promised her that hed be here w cake and dinner and presents and everythign_

_Im abt to invert my skin and crawl in it_

Knowing that his fellow teammate was at the very sports meeting he had not shown up to in favour of his sister’s birthday, he had not been expecting a response straight away - but Artorias, as unpredictable as he usually was, sent one nevertheless.

_From: Arty, Just Now_

_Yooo that mf SUCKS_

_Can i help w anything_

Gwynsen squinted his eyebrows, making sure that he wasn’t going insane and receiving a non existent message in his state of fury.

_From: You, Just Now_

_Is a game not on how r u textin_

_But hdausdausdbsu idk it just fuckign sucks_

_Felt like telling someone_

_Sorru_

_From: Arty, Just Now_

_??////!!!! The hell u apologising for u dumbass_

_And also we just finished 1 match we’re so fucking sweaty_

_Literally all of us are lying down naked...the norm bro_

_Manliest of men…..we so hot and 4 what_

Of course, Gwynsen realised - almost chuckling. That was the usual cycle of the team, and he should’ve expected it. Their members would play rounds non-stop until they were completely devoid of energy; then, they would collapse on the ground and the hall would fog up with the pungent smell of perspiration and heavy breaths. It was truly the ritual among rituals. 

_From: You, Just Now_

_FUCK i forogt_

_mmzmKAJD im just so stressed i have no idea how to make fili feel better_

_There is no god_

_Ok im going to stop speaking now i do not feel emotions_

_Am i even real_

Gwynsen quickly regretted sending his last few messages, and held it down in an attempt to load the ‘delete’ option, but Artorias was far too fast.

_From: Arty, Just Now_

_NO!!!! REPRESSION DO NOT COME HOME_

_You fucking twitch whenever you feel an emotiojn thatsnot happiness_

_Bro stop invalidating yourself….engaging your emotions and healing is kinda sexy doe_

Artorias had affirmed time and time again that it was alright for him to feel upset - that in fact, it was better to do so - but it just never settled well with him. He was an older brother to three siblings: two of which were a decade or more younger than him; he had his childhood, and now he had to ensure they had theirs - and to do that, he had to be strong. 

Emotional vulnerability was a curse, and he refused to be hexed.

_From: You, Just Now_

_Mmmovign on._

_What i do_

_From: Arty, Just Now_

_Ugh………..FUCK you stupid ily no homo i hope yu understand what im saying one day_

_Absolute fucker_

_Buy her a present or soemtshit_

It was a fairly decent suggestion, but he had already done so - and worst of all, his gift was another _dress,_ seeing as how much he knew Filianore loved styling, but now that his father had given some as ‘compensation,’ his present had dulled in worth entirely.

_From: You, Just Now_

_I alrdy did_

_bu t still shes so fucking sad i wanna compensate_

_From: Arty, Just Now_

_Get her le epic cake_

_Baked goods...mmmm….hit different_

The ravenette’s question was not one that he expected - sure, he had mentioned Gwyn promising her one, but he had assumed that Artorias only inferred the text as Gwyn stating he’d be there, not that he had completely left them cakeless.

_From: You, Just Now_

_NO Tthats the worst part_

_Im gonna have to get a plain one_

_Mydad promised but hes not showing and no one can work this fast_

_For a custom one at least_

_From: Arty, Just Now_

_mmmzmakdjsa#$%^ &*()(*&%$ _

_I...may know someone_

Blanking out, Gwynsen had to slap the side of his head to ground himself and bring himself back to earth. _No_ way Artorias just said that. He’d probably been imagining it.

He glanced back at his phone. ‘ _No - no the text is there,_ ’ he concluded in his thoughts.

This could be it - his last, final hope of making Filianore’s birthday feel more personalised and less like a terrible mistake had occurred during it. Whoever could do it that fast, he needed to know now.

_From: You, Just Now_

_wwWHO WHO WHO_

_ARTY PLEAE I NEED TO KNOW_

The few seconds of Artorias’ typing - depicted by the grey, bubbling icon in the corner - felt like that lasted an eternity. He was aware that he wasn’t blowing this out of proportion. The problem was not as miniscule as it may have seemed, he just _knew it._

_From: Arty, Just Now_

_Ohgod okay but hes isnt yourbiggest fan_

_Mr owonstein himself chief_

_That man is baking jesus_

_He floats on bread...the flour...it parts like israel_

For the first time since he knew of the honour student, he felt nervous. Even when he had met the redhead and made a complete fool out of himself, he did not endure any anxiety - only shame and befuddlement. But now - now there was something at stake, and his previous mistakes had rose them to the moon.

No matter, it was a risk he was willing to take. Ornstein didn’t particularly enjoy his presence; that much he knew - especially with how distantly the shorter male spoke to him. He would still try and earn Ornstein’s affections, of course, but this was so much more than that.

_From: You, Just Now_

_Ok you know what_

_Its worth a shot_

_From: Arty, Just Now_

_HELL YEAH_

_Go get that cake_

_Haha assjoke im funny_

_Laugh._

The worst part was that Gwynsen _did_ end up chuckling. God, they were both five.

Reeling himself back to his task, he switched contacts and entered his and Ornstein’s chat - the one chain of text messages he had that were ‘work only’ despite his best efforts to build a relationship.

_From: You, Just Now_

_Hi_

* * *

Ornstein quirked an eyebrow when his phone buzzed. None of his roommates were expected to be home soon, and he was plenty sure that he told them he did not need dinner, meaning that there was not many possibilities for other texts. 

_From: Rat, Just Now_

_Hi_

Immediately, Ornstein dropped his phone. Nope, not today. _No_ way was he going to hear out one of Gwynsen’s disgusting love proses. He had made it clear that he would not be listening to any of them, but Gwynsen would likely disregard his wishes as he often did. Switching off his cell, he resumed staring at his laptop as he progressed with his short essay.

However, his phone continued buzzing, and buzzing, until the vibrations were breaching his barrier of tolerance. He reached for the device - intending to mute it - when he had accidentally expanded the notification bar of Gwynsen’s texts, and noticed that it wasn’t about any romantic sonnet.

_From: Rat, Just Now_

_Okay so: iknow we’re not rly….the closest (i’d like to be but,,,,)_

_hehe_

_Basically. My dad isn’t coming home for my sister’s birthday and he promised her a cake among many tbings_

_So. i really need a cake for her otherwise shes gonna get a plain one,, and i really want her to feel better so_

Ornstein grimaced. After what had happened last time, he knew that Gwynsen was a faithful older sibling - but that was all that Ornstein had seen. They were not friends, and they were definitely not on close terms. However, his own older sibling guilt was kicking at his gut - and after all, he _was_ rather free. 

Deciding to at least give Gwynsen a ‘chance’, Ornstein sighed. He turned on his phone and entered his messenger - knowing just how much he’d regret this the entire time.

_From: You, Just Now_

_Why should I help you_

_From: Rat, Just Now_

_Uhhhhhhhh_

_Pelase._

_‘What an amazing reason.’_ Ornstein sniggered. 

_From: Rat, Just Now_

_Listen i’ll even leave you alone for good after this okay_

_I’ll promise you that_

_I’ll pay any cost you want me to pay I just really want my sister to feel like she has a parent even if both of ours arent around_

Ornstein blinked.

He was absolutely, utterly taken aback by Gwynsen’s desperation; both when Gwynsen promised him that he’d be left alone, and when the other male’s motives reminded him so much of his own. 

Gwynsen’s words charred a print of remembrance in him, spurred recollections of how although he had always neat and hard working, he had increased those traits tenfold when his sister was born - wanting her to never feel lonely like he did while his parents worked endlessly. It was a twisted, nostalgic form of dejavu, and his stomach curled into a spiral in reaction to it.

He texted his reply, more for the sake of himself than anyone else. He was not going to show that he affected by Gwynsen’s text in any way, however, so he feigned caring only about Gwynsen’s promise.

_From: You, Just Now_

_You’ll leave me alone_

_For good_

_And still finish the project._

Instantaneously, he received a response - portraying the other male’s lack of hesitance.

_From: Rat, Just Now_

_Yeah_

Exasperatedly, Ornstein massaged his scalp whilst exhaling. Even though he had not even agreed to it yet, his heart had already made its decision, and so, there was no going back now.

_From: You, Just Now_

_Okay._

_Here’s my address. You’re coming over and then we’re going out to buy everything._

* * *

The apartment’s doorbell rang a bit after their conversation, and as Ornstein opened his door, noticed that Gwynsen looked as annoying as he usually did. 

Sneering with disdain, Ornstein let him in - mindful to remind him to take off his shoes before doing so. The moment that Gwynsen had entered, Ornstein sat him down at the rounded dining room table - his face stoic and businesslike.

“What kind of cake does she like?” The redhead asked, jotting down notes on a piece of paper. His handwriting held all of its usual grace - each word stylised in a neat cursive. 

“Lavender,” Gwynsen replied. 

The response made Ornstein glance over at Gwynsen, his gaze allowing the taller male to deduce his confusion. 

The larger male grimaced. He seemed to feel as if he was threading on a thin ice - which wasn’t exactly wrong. “Yeah, I know it’s weird but she’s always insisting that she’s a princess, and that princesses eat ‘graceful’ food so-”

Ornstein wouldn’t admit it, but it was genuinely endearing how well Gwynsen knew his siblings. In an attempt to not feel any more compelled to the other male’s cause, Ornstein cut him off.

“Okay, any allergies?”

Gwynsen shook his head. “No, but she doesn’t like nuts.”

The redhead nodded, writing down all the details onto the parchment. Simultaneously, his brain worked to go through all the possible outcomes - being careful to consider texture, flavour, decoration and size.

“What’s her favourite colour?” 

“Like a light pink? But purple is good too. She hates orange, though.”

“Okay,” Ornstein stated. The plan had begun forming itself into images in his head, allowing himself to confirm the pastry's outcome. “Get your car ready in five minutes.”

* * *

“Add this to the cart,” Ornstein instructed, handing Gwynsen a packet of confectioner’s sugar.

The two were currently at a supermarket - Ornstein having completely planned out what he was going to make. Trailing behind him dutifully was Gwynsen - who was pushing the trolley around and throwing in whatever the redhead told him to. 

Whilst they were at the apartment, their agreement had also been finalised: Gwynsen was to pay for the entirety of the cake, along with a decorative platter that Ornstein would then present the dessert on. However, as much as he insisted, the redhead would not be accepting any payments for his labour - labelling such funds as ‘pity money.’

Gwynsen stood as he observed Ornstein glancing down at his neat shopping list, observing with a content fervour that it was almost completed. “I only need to get the ingredients for the buttercream left, then we can go pick up the platter.” 

In turn, Gwynsen nodded - and when Ornstein had begun walking towards the dairy rack, followed as well. The larger male gulped. He had been holding his tongue - and the many questions resting on them - for the entirety of the trip, not wanting to set off Ornstein, which he thought would result in the cake being called off. Unbeknownst to him, the redhead would never do such a thing - said male already dead set on making the dessert.

“You look like you’re about to shit yourself,” Ornstein nonchalantly pointed out. “If there’s something you need to know, spit it out.” 

Gwynsen bit his lip. “How long will it take to bake?” He was cautious of his tone - the last thing he wanted to come off as was demanding, especially when the other male was already doing him such a large favour. 

“Is that what you were worried about asking?” Scoffing, Ornstein threw in two blocks of unsalted butter. He then glanced up at Gwynsen, and smirked. “Three to four hours for the whole thing. Including decorating.”

The estimate he was given was _much_ less than Gwynsen anticipated. He was sure that at the very least, the baking process itself would take three hours - along with the whole operation totalling up to six. 

“Oh! I thought it would’ve taken much longer,” Gwynsen mumbled. Realising what he had said, he quickly sought to mend it. “Not because I thought you were incompetent, it’s just-”

He discontinued his clarification when the sound of Ornstein’s snort resounded through the aisle. “No, it’s fine,” Ornstein replied, almost fondly. “I probably _would’ve_ taken longer, but it’s a cake I’m familiar with.” The honours student furrowed his eyebrows in contemplation, not quite sure if he should explain why it was so. Eventually, he relented - though the decision was not exactly conscious. “I used to make cakes with my little sister a lot back home. Natural ingredients were so much easier to get back in Lothric - so I practiced making herbal cakes a lot.”

Unbeknownst to Gwynsen, it had been an excruciatingly long time since Ornstein had vocalised any thoughts about Issabeth; all of his roommates had their own worries, and he hadn’t wanted to add to it. As such, with such a mindset, he had learned that exposing such memories was weakness - leading to the redhead immediately recoiling with an irrational, crippling fear when he had noticed what he said.

However, Gwynsen only wore an expression of awe, his mouth gaping slightly. He didn’t know that Ornstein had siblings as well - additionally a younger one at that. “You’re an older brother too?” He asked, full of pleasant shock. 

“Ah,” Ornstein gasped as what he had just said set into his skin more and more. “Yes, but it doesn’t matter.” 

The larger male watched as the redhead shut his mouth - clearly exhibiting a lack of desire to continue the conversation, perhaps out of animosity for the topic. Nevertheless, Ornstein’s reasoning did not matter; What _was_ of importance, on the other hand, was that it was now painfully evident that their discussion had entered awkward territory, causing Ornstein to withdraw back into his inimical shell, and Gwynsen back into sealing his lips.

‘ _You stupid fuck-up,_ ’ Gwynsen thought - internally reprimanding himself for going off the rails and asking questions that he shouldn’t have. Truth be told, he was entirely unsure of _what_ it is that he said, but knowing himself, he was probably being ignorant and insensitive as usual.

Watching as Ornstein stiffly pulled out a carton of milk from the stand - then reaching inside the trolley to adjust the other goods - Gwynsen let out more curses under his breath, cursing his idiocy.

It was only when the smaller male was confident that he hadn’t missed out any ingredients and pivoted himself towards the cashier that Gwynsen felt he was getting any reprieve - as he was no longer in Ornstein’s line of sight, allowing him to berate himself even further.

“I’m done, let’s go get the platter,” Ornstein tensely ordered - and once more, Gwynsen was swift to adhere.

* * *

Ornstein placed all the newly purchased ingredients on his kitchen island - cringing as he did so. He couldn’t accept that he had exhibited such a weak side of himself in front of anyone - especially Gwynsen of all people. The words had slipped out his mouth on a buttery highway, each term smoothly flowing; it was unintentional, but embarrassing all the same. 

He had directed the other male to sit down once more - emphasising that he was not to go poking around the apartment, to which the other male readily agreed. For once, it seemed as if Gwynsen was feeling the effects of Orstein’s reluctance to converse as well. No matter, he had to accomplish his promise to the best of his abilities - and to do that, he had to disregard the memory. 

Gathering himself through a deep breath, he walked over to the oven and preheated it - getting started with the baking process. In the same go, he also pulled out three eggs from the fridge - to which he placed in a small porcelain bowl to warm. 

Fully aware of his actions - as he always liked to be - Ornstein organised each constituent in their corresponding groups. He swept the ornamental tools into a corner of the table so that it would not obstruct any movements, then reached under the table’s cabinet to acquire his apron. At the same time, he pulled out two hair clips from his pocket, and delicately fastened his bangs to the sides of his scalp. 

Rolling up his sleeves, he cracked all three of the eggs - discarding their shells in the bin. He then pulled out all the apparatus he required, including mixing bowls, measuring spoons and the like. Instinctively, he opened the packet of flour and poured it in a bowl and combined it with a small half teaspoon of baking soda. 

Then, in another bowl - with the help of his dutiful mixer - he beat sugar, butter and eggs until they had turned into a creamy batter. Shortly after, in accordance with his usual step, he moved towards his stove with the carton of milk in one hand, and the dried culinary lavender in the other. He simmered the milk in a pot, attentively stirring the dairy every so often, while also adding in a controlled amount of lavender petals; when the solution had turned into a shade that edged purple, he strained it above another bowl through a fine-mesh. 

As he returned to the counter, out the corner of his eye Ornstein spotted that Gwynsen’s eyes were on him as he continued baking, said man likely brimming with curiosity of what the cake’s status was. However - as difficult as it was to come to terms with - Ornstein found that even if it was Gwynsen, the company was somewhat welcomed, as it had been long since he had made desserts in the presence of anyone. 

His emotions were cotton as he smiled to himself - the expression tiny, but the feelings in it large and affectionate. He really _did_ miss home, and though he wanted to go back during the next break, he recognised that his family could not afford the travel costs at all, even if the prices were only for a single person. But here Gwynsen was: not needing to attend any seminars and spending most of his time in the confines of his splendid home.

The reminder was almost sobering - he was a child raised in the poor outskirts of a foreign country, born to parents working humble jobs that did not attain the results of much wealth, and here he was - casually baking a cake for a boy stages above him in wealth who would never know the pain of needing to scramble everyday just to afford an education - and yet, despite his first few meetings with the larger male, he had learnt that the man, albeit an annoyance, was not one above kindness. 

As he alternatively stirred the batter with the lavender milk, his mood continuously soured until his features had darkened visibly; his eyebrows were set in a foul frown. It had occurred to him what his feelings towards Gwynsen were now; they were not of hatred, but more of resentment. Though Gwynsen had initially struck him as a person who had enjoyed comedy at the cost of others - including himself - and cared not for anyone that wasn’t him, it was obvious to him that this was no longer the case. 

Nonetheless, the other male had been an annoyance to him many times - and they were not from empty indignation either. It was simply all so confusing to him; when he had signed up for university, he had been sure that he would’ve steered clear of any distractions - only letting himself be in an environment that would allow him to work at his best. He gripped the spatula tightly in frustration, the bowl clanking against the table due to the series of harsh whisks. 

“Hey,” Gwynsen asked - startling the redhead greatly. It had seemed that during the moments of him spacing out, the larger male had detected his inner turmoil, and despite Ornstein’s warnings, cared to cross their emotional rift to check if he was alright. “It’s not my place to ask but - are you okay?”

Ornstein ceased all his movements as a reply, the spatula going slack on the bowl’s rim. “Yeah,” he cooly replied - and it was all that he offered.

The taller male nodded, perceiving that Ornstein didn’t want to talk about this. “Okay. I know I’m the last person you’d like to talk to, so if something’s up, talk to someone yeah?”

Ducking his head down, he rendered Gwynsen unable to gaze at his countenance. “Please sit back down,” he said, though he really wished it came out as the _‘thank you,’_ he had intended it to be. “You’re distracting me.”

Harshly biting his tongue, Gwynsen nods and leaves to sit back onto where he previously was. Guilt blackens Ornstein’s veins - crawling up his lips and slithering like a vicious, tarred serpent. 

He knew that Gwynsen was simply trying to help. He may not have been a friend - let alone close to Ornstein - in any way, but his intentions were good, and likely had no evil reasoning. With a slight shake in his hands, he picks up the ladle and begins mixing again.

Gwynsen wasn’t a bad person. It was a conclusive decision; perhaps he had seemed the stereotypical snob at first, but he was at the very least caring. He had taken a certain gratification in his love for his friends and siblings, and a shine to being pleasant companies around others, from what Ornstein had heard. 

Seemingly unworking, his hands came to a halt. They twitched with a distress inexpressible by any means other than speech. He took a breath to calm himself, and glanced around the room to subtly survey the other. 

Sat on the same chair, the taller male was hunched over and sadly fumbling the skin around his fingernails. Noticeably, one cheek was also sunken in - likely being chewed nervously. 

The scene - allowing guilt to settle in him even further - forced him to bit his lip anxiously. There was no point in hubris then, Ornstein guessed. No matter who, he would not let anyone feel upset by his outbursts - if they were not an objective cause of it, they didn’t deserve his wrath in the slightest. If an apology was needed, then so be it.

“Hey,” he called out - alerting Gwynsen instantaneously. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be harsh.” Gulping to push down the heart pulsating in his throat, he produced a rather undignified sound - causing him to shimmer with embarrassment even further. “Thank you for your concern.”

Gwynsen grins in return - eyes closed and bashful. “It’s no problem,” he genuinely states.

* * *

“That’s the last of it,” Ornstein announced. Using his sleeve, he flicked a few drops of sweat off his brow as he pulled the frosting pipette further from the cake. Tenderly, he picked up the golden salver - making sure that the pastry would not shift as he did so. 

The redhead had still felt awkward from the incident only an hour before; despite his apologies, he found that he had to consciously freeze his hands to prevent them from nervously shaking. 

“Here, come get it,” the redhead ordered, sounding just wintry enough to shelter his nerves. Holding out the plate in front of his chest, he waited for Gwynsen to collect it.

In response, Gwynsen rose from his seat. He quickly trudged over to where Ornstein stood, and tucked his fingers under the plate. As soon as the shorter male was aware that the other had the dish secured in his grip, he let go completely. 

Gwynsen stared at Ornstein when he released his grip, eyes full of distinct gratitude. “I still can’t thank you enough,” he started. “I’m serious - I really, _really_ cannot thank you enough.”

“Don’t bother then,” Ornstein sternly instructed. “It’s a small favour.”

Gwynsen blinked, though his expression revealed that he wasn’t all that surprised at Ornstein’s feverous modesty. “Ah- well, okay then,” he replied, as he let go of the saver in one hand - gripping it with the other. It was a precarious way of holding it, but the redhead was sure that at the very least, Gwynsen would know to safely store it. 

Ornstein watched as the taller male reached into his pocket, fumbling for his car keys within them. It was only a matter of time before the inevitable - though that moment was much sooner than either anticipated. “I’ll be on my wa-” 

Green orbs widening, Ornstein immediately dived forward to prevent the cake from falling off its plate. “Careful!” He hurriedly exclaimed. 

The other male quickly stabilised his wrist, but not before Ornstein had planted his head into his chest and wrapped his lithe fingers around his forearm. In response to both his clumsiness and the physical contact, Gwynsen’s face flushed a bright red, embarrassed blood rushing to his face. “A-ah, don’t worry, I’ve got it!” 

Ornstein rested in the position for a moment, registering what had happened. Finally, when his head had absorbed the events, he launched himself off Gwynsen’s chest, turning his head sideways to avoid meeting the other male’s eyes as he burnt a similar hue. “You’re such an _idiot,_ ” he spoke - careful to enunciate on Gwynsen’s maladroit behaviour. He placed a palm across his face, sighing heavily into it. “You know what, I’ll help you carry it over. Just drive.”

Insistently shaking his head, Gwynsen secured his grip on the tray once more. “No- no, it’s fine.” He forced his mouth into a strained smile, hoping that it would convey asurrity. “You’ve already done enough, and as I promised earlier, I wouldn’t bother you anymore!”

A pang of discomfort shot through Ornstein’s chest at the reminder. It wasn’t particularly _painful_ , but more towards nervousness. Though, the more he considered it, the more he settled that it was likely _excitement_ to be rid of Gwynsen.

Yet somehow, that still didn’t feel right.

“Shut up,” he stringently directed, deflecting his emotions again. “If I offer you something, I already know that it won’t bother me, so don’t think that it will.”

Gwynsen gulped. He seemed to be reassured by the shorter male’s words, but his shuffles still illuminated a light of hesitancy. “Are you sure?” He asked - more for his comfort that Ornstein’s. 

“Get your keys out, dumbass.”

* * *

They had reached their destination of the Gwyn manor roughly fourty minutes later, with Gwynsen scrambling to park as swiftly as humanly possible; in which upon arriving, he stripped himself of the seatbelt, left the vehicle, and ran to Ornstein’s side of the car - waiting for said man to open the door for himself. 

However, before Ornstein could even leave, Gwynsen had found himself tackled to the ground by a figure much smaller than him - one that was swaddled from head to toe in fine fabrics. 

“Big brother!” Filianore cried, head burrowed in his chest. “I’m sorry, please don’t be mad at me!” 

Gwynsen lay confusedly on the ground, clearly not understanding her words. He wasn’t sure on what she was basing his thoughts on, and so, he propped himself upwards - a hand resting on the ground and the other across his little sister’s back as he asked: “What are you talking about?” He continued patting her tiny frame trying his best to soothe her out of her sobs. “I’m not mad at you at all!”

He watched as she continued babbling apologies into his shirt - causing a wet mark to form on where her head was situated, though as time went on, she had gradually started to calm down; her hands eventually ceasing their gripping, and her cries quieting. 

“Are you sure?” She tenderly questioned - clearly afraid of any negative answers.

Gently, the older brother sat upright, and pulled Filianore into his lap. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “What made you think I was upset?”

She shook slightly, but finally looked up - catching a glimpse of his face to gauge the extent of his honesty. “You looked sad earlier, th-then you left home - so I thought you were driving off for awhile again.” 

Gwynsen’s features contorted into disgust when he had begun recollecting memories of his old self. For a short time - a few months perhaps - he had acquired the ill habit to drink his sorrows and then leaving home for a few days, ensuring that his emotions would be locked down before returning. That, or his feats of repression would include bringing home strangers to bed; people in which were chosen with no particular reason besides being slightly attractive. However, he had forced himself out of these practices when it had occurred to him how uncomfortable the entire situation had made his siblings - especially his two younger ones. 

Cringing at no one but himself, Gwynsen squeezed Filianore in his arms, wrapping her in a tight, comforting embrace. “No - no you don’t have to worry about that anymore remember? I quit, it was bad.” Softly, he patted the back of her head before continuing. “I’m sorry, I’m not mad at you at all - in fact, I left the house to get you something.”

It was then that it dawned upon him that he had essentially locked Ornstein in the car, since he had rested right outside the door, trapping the redhead into being unable to push the door open. The thought had once more, rendered him neon with embarrassment. 

“O-oh, Fili, that’s right!” He stood up rapidly, securing Filianore in his arms. “I need to show you something!”

He grimaced when he had peered at the window and met Ornstein’s eyes, though he was shocked to find that there was no anger on the other male’s face. ‘ _I’m so sorry,_ ’ he mouthed, swinging the door open. 

“This is Ornstein.” He stepped aside, letting the shorter male emerge from behind him. “He made a cake for you,” he explained, bouncing his little sibling. 

In just seconds, the girl’s face had lit up completely - with reddening cheeks and bright eyes, she kicked her tiny legs around, not at all reminiscent of a normal ten year old’s actions. Covering her mouth with her hands, she giggled into them - switching from staring at Gwynsen and Ornstein multiple times as if to reconfirm the situation.

In Ornstein, however, it was obvious that he had not been expecting to meet the birthday girl - mildly confused, but he smiled anyways in the end, and inched forward to present Filianore the pastry. 

“Hello,” he greeted, preparing to pull off the top of the platter. “Happy birthday, this is for you.”

The two males watched as her smile widened even further, before a loud “ _thank you so much!_ ” burst from her lips. She quickly turned to kiss Gwynsen on the cheek, also muttering a ‘ _Thank you big brother!_ ’ to him before allowing her attention to reel back to the other male.

“It’s no problem at all,” Ornstein replied. Already attempting to pass the cake on to Gwynsen, he started: “So I’ll just leave it with your brother okay? Have a good birthday.” Though when Filianore stayed unmoving, Ornstein stared at the two of them expectantly, confused as to why she had suddenly seemed perturbed.

“You’re not staying?” Filianore’s lips quivered as she asked the question. 

Freezing up, Ornstein found that he could not move a single muscle. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that at all - he didn’t want her to feel upset, and yet, he didn’t feel particularly comfortable here. Plus, he had things to do later in the day - supposedly being home by now and starting up his extra assignments in advance.

Though before he could reply, Gwynsen had spoke up, covering for Ornstein’s inability to reply. “I think he’s busy, Fili,” the taller male responded - thoroughly surprising Ornstein that the other male hadn’t manipulated the situation to force him to stay. 

All conversation had paused in the moment - with Gwynsen waiting for his sister to respond, though when she did, it was the single most unexpected thing _anyone_ could have even mentioned. 

“But aren’t you guys dating?” Filianore loudly questioned, puffing her cheeks into a pout. “I thought that people dating were busy with _each other_?”

Gwynsen and Ornstein abruptly twisted their necks as they angled for their eyes to meet. Both of them peered at each other, completely baffled. 

“We’re not dating,” the two announced simultaneously.

However, it was apparent that the revelation only angered the girl even more. “What!” Demanding an explanation, she shouted. “But Linny said he read you a love poem by big brother!” She fussed in Gwynsen’s grip, pushing herself out of his arms and landing in a puffy heap onto the ground. 

As she dusted herself off, she continued: “Are you trying to tell me that my story books are a lie? Love notes _always_ work! You two should be riding off into the sunset by now!” 

Pacing around the ground and circling her older brother, the little girl repeatedly tapped a finger to her chin in contemplation - an act in which caused Ornstein to go from befuddled to bemused. 

“I’ve got it!” Filianore suddenly proclaimed. “I know why it didn’t work - big brother is just _too_ ugly!”

The two males were silenced once more, until Ornstein broke out in a burst of laughter while Gwynsen’s jaw dropped to the floor, and he yelled: “Wh- _hey!_ ”

“I mean, you’re not wrong,” Ornstein explained through chuckles.

Solemnly, she nodded. “I knew it. My genius is unparalleled.” She then turned to glare at Gwynsen. “Also, I _told_ you you’re too stinky!” Waving a finger around, she continued her verbal assault. “Big sis is always telling you to bathe but _no!_ You’re so _lazy!_ ”

Dramatically, Gwynsen placed a hand onto his chest. “Stop bullying me!” He begged. “This isn’t fair!”

The two siblings continued their banter, each one whining back and forth. Eventually, this lead to Ornstein exploding into a new set of guffaws. 

If the redhead was being honest with himself, the scene had reminded him of the many playful arguments he had with his own little sister - especially with how jovial and lighthearted they were. The image of Gwynsen that he had formed in his mind really wasn’t that accurate as well; with each additional occasion of witnessing the aforementioned male interact with his loved ones, it appeared that he really was a kind soul, albeit extremely dimwitted by nature. 

Caught up in his thoughts - as he progressively found himself doing more and more when trying to figure out the truth of Gwynsen - he did not notice the quiet footsteps of a young boy pattering his feet against the ground, nor the sight of said boy. 

“Big sister Fili? Big brother? Why are you two shouting?” Gwyndolin softly asked.

“I’m just telling him that he’s ugly,” Filianore explained at the same time as Gwynsen cried “She’s being mean to me!”

The blank look on Gwyndolin’s face told Ornstein that this wasn’t new at all; in truth, it was likely a common occasion that was by many means, expected. Despite his initial bored stare, however, the moment Gwyndolin had become aware of his presence, the boy had immediately lit up - his face flashing with a vibrancy that was unfathomable mere weeks ago.

“Ah- Mister Ornstein!” Silencing the entire group as he spoke, Gwyndolin paced towards the honour student. “Thank you so much for before!” 

Ornstein gazed at the child fondly, softened in the heart at how much healthier the usually ill child appeared. “It was no problem at all, I’m just glad you’re feeling better now.”

“I still need to give you back your coat! Please, pardon me.” As he excused himself, it was coruscatingly apparent how much better Gwyndolin’s manners were in comparison to Gwynsen’s - and personality wise, they shared no similar trait at all. 

Shortly after, the boy returned with a maid in tow - the woman carefully holding a white box with both her hands that was neatly sealed by a ribbon. 

“Here, I had gotten it cleaned for you too!” Gwyndolin proudly announced. At that, the servant behind him trudged to where Ornstein stood, and presented him the box - all the while not saying a single word. 

Accepting the box, Ornstein tucked it under his arm. “Thank you,” Ornstein said, leaving Gwyndolin to grin shyly in return. It had seemed that the boy was about to say something as a reply, but he was interrupted by Filianore stomping her foot on the ground.

“I _cannot_ believe you let Linny meet him before me!” She roared, slapping Gwynsen on his legs. 

“It’s because you’re always _napping!_ ” Gwynsen reasoned. For once, Ornstein was well aware as to why the older sibling had chosen to give false reasoning instead of the truth of the honour student disliking him - not wanting to guilt the redhead into saying otherwise.

“Anyways.” Facing the car and holding out the pastry still, Ornstein started. “I’m really sorry, but I’m busy - so I can’t stay.” He grimaced internally, hoping that it wouldn’t sadden Filianore to a large extent.

Filianore slumped over exaggeratedly. “ _Awwww,_ okay.” Though, despite her hunching, both older males were glad that that was it, and that she hadn’t seemed _too_ disappointed. 

Patting Filianore’s shoulder as he turned to face the maid by his younger brother’s side, Gwynsen gestured towards Ornstein. “Can you please take the cake and leave it in the dining hall?” He requested - to which the servant slinked towards Ornstein and delicately removed the dish from his grasp. “Okay, Fili, I’ll be back in fourty after sending Ornstein home.”

“O- _kay,_ thank you again mister Ornstein!” As she spoke, the gratitude in her words chimed violently. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said before entering the car. “Goodbye, and have a good birthday.”

Securely shutting the door after him, the redheaded male strapped himself beneath the seatbelt - all these actions in which were repeated in compliance by Gwynsen, who stepped in shortly after.

Igniting the engine, Gwynsen’s face curled into a wince. “I’m really sorry for that.” He continued driving as he spoke, but it is easily noticed by Ornstein that his grip on the steering wheel had transformed his knuckles into a pale white.

“It’s fine,” Ornstein states in consolation, though he offers nothing more.

“Oh yeah, and as promised, I’ll leave you alone after this,” Gwynsen assures. “You really helped me out today, so don’t worry! I’ll finish the project.” The comments were made in humour, but they were thick and rubbery with tension - similar to a stretched bungee cord. 

Gwynsen’s words were predictable - to the point where any soul, even one freshly born, would’ve seen them coming, but Ornstein still finds himself caught off guard, leaving him flummoxed the same way it did before. There was no reason as to why they should have - he wanted this, Gwynsen was a pest and pests were better gone. 

He stays quiet, his mind burning in a flame that seeks an answer. Perhaps it is guilt? Or even a softness in him that he hadn’t yet culled. There were many reasons and scenarios that flashed in his thoughts, though none of them reach the peak of the mountain where the enlightening truth lies. 

Until it does.

“You’re not that bad.” His speech rushes out like a whitewater river - wild, and uncontrollable. He tries to enunciate on it, but his pride - saturated like molasses - keep his mouth stuck shut. The only option now is to wait on a response, and Ornstein greatly prays that whatever Gwynsen says will not complicate the situation further.

Gwynsen chokes; while keeping his eyes on the road, his breath broke out into a bewildering fit of hacks and coughs. “Woah.” The sound - barely coherent and not and all eloquent - being all that he could muster.

Stubbornly, the redhead chewed the side of his mouth. “Yeah,” he began. “I think you’re an annoying idiot, and that you’re really, _really_ self centered.”

“Oh,” The taller male wheezes out, understanding Ornstein’s words, but hurting as he listened to them nevertheless.

“But.” He licks the roof of his mouth, trying to allow the words to slip out more easily. “I also think that I misjudged you.” 

He turns to look at the window, watching the city meld into a palette of pastel colours. “You’re not as egotistical as I thought - and I think that you care a lot about your siblings.” Inhaling deeply, he faces Gwynsen - and though he knows that Gwynsen cannot see him in anything besides his peripherals, he hopes that this decays the rotting walls of insincerity he may subconsciously present. “I can respect that.”

“Ah - wait, are you serious?” The other student asks, flabbergasted. “You don’t need to feel guilty okay? I promised you, so I-”

Ornstein scoffs. “Shut up, don’t go acting like I’m confused with myself,” he says, despite feeling exactly that. “I know what I’m saying.”

“Yeah.” There is a blush on Gwynsen’s face - one maddeningly red like a poppy’s petal, bursting in an innocent pleasure. “Yeah, okay.”

Just to withhold both his pride and peace of mind, Ornstein adds: “This doesn’t mean you can go acting like I’m your best friend.” He squeezes the box Gwyndolin had passed to him, and fiddles with its ribbon. “It’s just that I know a decent person when I see one; I’m just tolerating you.”

The rest of the car ride is spent in a soft, blooming silence - one that streams with the comfort of tranquility. Gwynsen does not respond, and neither does Ornstein continue, but the atmosphere turns pleasant, and so does the widening smile on the taller male’s face. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not quite sure when I'll update next, but it'll definitely be before March 5th! Thank you for all your support <3

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely self indulgent LOL,,,,the ds3 fandom desperately craved happiness and light hearted-ness so heres my take on that in an absolutely ridiculous modern au :').


End file.
